


Insidious

by treenahasthaal



Series: Invictus [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: How Luke became an Imperial Agent, Prequel to Instinct
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/pseuds/treenahasthaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an outcast and a loner among the youth of Anchorhead made Luke Skywalker easy prey...</p><p>A prequel to Instinct</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I write fan fiction purely for entertainment and no claim to Disney/Lucasfilm's copyright. My only profit is the fun I have...

** Insidious **

** Part One **

_ The Teacher _

Puny.

That was the initial word that came to his mind when he first saw the boy. ‘Scrawny’ was the second.

Puny and scrawny.

The boy was sitting on the ground, covered in dust and dirt with his clothes in disarray, wiping the blood away from a split lip; a large bruise already darkening the skin under his eye. A crowd of youths were running helter-skelter down the street away from the scene while hooting and laughing and shouting insults in both Huttese and Galactic Standard…

“Wormie! Wormie… Squirm back into the sand, worm-boy!”

“… echuta gaggalak…”

…and he had no doubt that they were the reason for the boy’s current condition.

The child stared at the blood on the back of his hand and, with more blood running from his lip, he wiped the offending fluid onto his ripped tunic. He was a pitiful sight, sitting there in the middle of the street forcing the few speeders that slowly traversed the road to veer around him eliciting further angry shouts from the drivers.

But there were no tears. No self-pity. When the boy looked up he did so with a hardened gaze at his bullies’ retreating backs.

There was a part of him that wanted to go to the boy now, right now. A part that wanted to pick him up out of the dust and the sand and set him on his feet. A part that wanted to tell the child of his father and of his hidden and unrecognised power that even now he could feel within the Force. The boy’s power swelled with his anger and hate, it crashed and dashed against the solid rocks of his own concealing shields, and rose and fell with the tides of the boy’s pain and upset, and yet it was a power that lay unnoticed and unrecognised by the child himself.

He had to quashed his instinct to intervene, quelled it by reason and logic; to approach the boy now would be foolhardy and it could lead to his exposure, something he could not yet risk.

No, a more subtle approach was required for the son of Anakin Skywalker; just as it had been required for Anakin himself.

He turned away, pulled the cowl of his robes further down to obscure his face and walked away as the beaten child dragged himself up from the sand and dirt.

ooOOoo

_ The Pupil _

Holding his arm to his chest, sure that his ribs were fractured this time, and with a groan of pain Luke Skywalker pulled himself to his feet. He licked his lips, experimentally probing at the cut on his lip and grimaced at the vile taste of blood and the feel of sand in his mouth. He gagged and spat out a glob of the revolting concoction.

Sand got everywhere!

He glanced down Anchorhead’s main street… it’s only street… watching the backs of the boys who had attacked him recede and disappear into the afternoon heat haze. He could still hear their laughter.

He hated them. Hated Fixer who had the hardest punch and the sorest kick. He was certain his legs were covered in bruises. He hated the others who had held him tight and fast so that Fixer had free reign to kick and punch at his leisure.

Someday, he promised himself. Someday he would be big enough and strong enough to defend himself. Someday, he would be able to wrestle free and return some of the punishment Fixer thought was his personal responsibility to deliver every time he spotted Luke in town.

The boy turned where he stood and took a hasty step back as yet another speeder veered around him, its driver, a Dug, cursing loudly in Huttese as he passed.

“Loca Kung!”

Luke shrugged, he had been called worse.

“Luke!” He winced at his Aunt Beru’s shout, and looked up with one eye swelling so much that his vision was already obscured. Fixer had really landed one this time! He squinted at Beru Lar’s as she hurried over, almost colliding with a figure in dusty dark robes. She paused, frowned and glanced briefly back at the man, before dismissing him and rushing to Luke.

His aunt kneeled before him, brushed the hair from his face and turned his head this way and that as she inspected the damaged. “Oh, Luke,” she despaired, “What happened this time?”

His tongue probed his cut lip again, before he answered. “Nothing… we were just playing.”

“Playing?!” Beru’s voice was incredulous as she dabbed at his lip with the sleeve of her dress. “This isn’t playing, Luke.”

The boy shrugged again, more embarrassed with his aunt’s fussing than he was by the beating he had taken.

“I’ll have your uncle speak to their fathers,” Beru told him, standing and looking up and down the street to see if she could spot the perpetrators. “Was it Laze again?” She asked, giving Fixer his true name.

“It was no-one, Aunt Beru. It was a game,” Luke protested becoming exasperated and a little panicked, knowing if his uncle spoke with Fixer’s father that the next beating would be worse. It always was when adults got involved. “Please, don’t say anything.”

In answer Beru spun him around and propelled him towards their waiting landspeeder telling him, “Forget Owen, we’ll go to Tosche Station right now and see if Laze’s father is there and get this sorted out.”

Luke had a protest on his lips, but he stilled it, swallowed it, knew it wouldn’t do any good. So he trudged along with his aunt to the speeder with the air of a man about to climb the gallows.

 

ooOOoo

_ The Teacher _

During the following weeks he visited the area as often as he dared, blending in and becoming a familiar figure in Anchorhead; a settler looking for supplies. He kept to himself, but could now greet the usual faces with a nod and a few words about the local news; the latest Tusken raids, the projected moisture harvest and how the price of fuel had risen even here in the Outer Rim since Palpatine had come to power twelve years before and…

“I never caught your name, buddy?”

He smiled, didn’t answer, his attention hooked now by a small figure dressed in Tatooine whites and creams; tunic, boots, pants and hat, who was walking down the street with a large cluster of other youths trailing at his back while calling insults, threats and goading each other on. One of the bigger boys ran up and delivered a hard slap to the back of the boy’s head, knocking the hat askew.

“Damn shame,” the man beside him muttered, “but the kid needs to stand up for himself. It’s the only way to beat the bullies.”

“Who is he?” he asked, despite knowing, keeping to his role.

“Kid’s called Skywalker. Luke… I think. Scraggy little beggar. He lives with the Lars. I asked Owen about him once, but he’s a private man, just said he was the son of some distant relative. Orphaned at the end of the Wars. Damned good of them to take the kid in, if you ask me.”

“Yes,” he intoned, distantly, his attention focused solely on the boy. “Very good of them.”

Skywalker’s face was flushed, adrenalin already coursing through his body. His hands were fisted by his sides and his back was stiff as he walked; he was ready for fight or flight. But which one? Intrigued and, despite the risks, he allowed his shields to slide, to loosen, just enough to reach out into the Force for a tentative touch.

And what a storm he found.

Young Skywalker’s feelings were a rage of emotion; hot, searing anger, and ice cold fear battled within. He was both confident that he was not going to back down or run away, but at the same time he knew… he knew… he was about to get badly hurt.

The boy’s head suddenly snapped up, he stopped dead and intense blue eyes met his.

He slammed his shields back in place, watching Skywalker’s forehead crease with confusion, just as the crowd of youths of descended. Despite himself he winced as Luke was tackled to the ground and the other teenagers surrounded him like a pack of womp rats swarming round a weakened Eopie. Feet kicked, fists bludgeoned until…

It was time!

“That’s enough!” He bellowed, crossing the road to intervene.

He was ignored by the group and he suddenly realised that every time he had seen the boy bullied and battered, he had never once cried out. Skywalker took his beatings with a quiet dignity, not giving his tormenters the satisfaction of a cry. Which only served to infuriate them.

His own fists grabbed a handful of cloth and he hauled the tallest boy away from the group and tossed him to the side. The youth’s feet slid in the sand, arms windmilled in the air and he fell into the sand on his butt.

The thuds, grunts and catcalls of the beating stopped and silence descended.

Enraged the teenager jumped back to his feet, chest out, face red with embarrassment and fury. “You etchuda stupid kung…. Do kee know who I am?”

He closed his eyes, reaching into the Force for calm, now was not the time to display his own powers, but he was close…. so close. “I under Huttese. I understand Galactic Standard. Speak one or the other but not this bastardized version of both.”

The youth took a step closer. He was a good head taller, stockier and physically powerful. However, size, bulk and physical strength had never intimidated him before and it wasn’t about to now.

“I strongly suggest that you leave… now,” he folded his arms, slipped his hands into his sleeves.

Indecision flashed in the youth’s face, his eyes flitted to the other boys standing behind the stranger, and then to the boy lying in the dirt. “This doesn’t concern you, old man,” he squinted in sun, trying to see into the heavy cowl of the man standing before him.

There was smile in his words when he replied. This bully had no idea how much this concerned him. “I think the boy has had enough for today, or perhaps I should have a word with your father?”

The youth’s hand slipped to the neck of his tunic and fisted it closed. The movement was telling and it confirmed what he suspected; this boy was as much a victim of violence as his prey was. They were at an impasse and one of them had to back down or take action against the other.

The boy licked his lips and took a step back and looked around the man to the gang waiting and watching behind. “Come on, guys….”

There was movement behind and the mob began to stroll around Luke and himself to gather at their leader’s back.

The large boy smirked, cleared his throat loudly and spat in the sand as he backed away. “We’ll see you later, Skywalker.” The threat was implicit in his tone.

He watched them wander away down the street and into the afternoon heat haze.

There was a groan from behind and he turned, crouched and offered his hand to Skywalker. The boy paused, looked up and studied the hand and the robes of the man helping him. “I’m fine,” he grunted out, pushing himself up to sit and ignoring the extended hand. “I can look after myself.”

He allowed himself a chuckle; the boy’s face was a medley of bruises and blood trailed from one cheek where a boot had grazed it, shredding skin.

“So I’ve noticed….” He said with a smile, his voice trailed away and glanced up the road, his eyes following the path that Skywalker’s tormentors had taken.

He could feel the boy’s eyes on him, his curiosity and a hint of gratitude for stopping the fight. He knew what the boy saw; an aged man of average height dressed in dark robes, white of hair and blue of eyes, face lined with the harshness of life.

“I’ve seen you around,” Skywalker commented squinting up at him in the sunslight.

The boy was supposed to have seen him in town. That had been the idea of his visits to the place; to become a known face, to become less suspicious and less of a threat to the locals.

“And I have seen you, young one,” he responded, pointedly looking back up at the road and at the path the boy’s bullies had taken. “I could help you, you know,” he said, eyes trailing back down to Luke who was still sitting in the sand.

He watched Luke tenderly touch his jaw where a dark lump was beginning to form. It needed a cool pack or some ice to curb the swelling, but he knew that these things were rare on Tatooine and that the boy would have to suffer until he healed.

“I could teach you to defend yourself,” he added, lifting his cowl over his head against the beat of the suns.

The boy wiggled his jaw, winced, still not taking him up on his offer, but he could feel Luke’s interest had been piqued.

He closed his eyes, called upon the Force for guidance, and clamped his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I could teach you. Teach you to fight back. They would never touch you again. No-one would…”

He left those words hanging in the air, seeing and feeling the boy’s curiosity spike. Seeing and feeling the child’s desire to be free…

“Only I can give you freedom.”

The boy’s eyes… so blue like his father’s… gaze up at him, gazed into the heavy cowl. “What would I have to do?”

Ah, yes… he was a child of Tatooine and just as suspicious as Anakin was before him. He did not expect to get something for nothing, he knew there would a price to pay. That would come, but not now. Now was not the time to discuss payment.

“Learn,” he told the boy, putting a smile into his words, “that is all young one. Nothing more. Learn what I have to teach and one day you will be free from their torment.”

He offered his hand again and this time, after another moment of hesitation, Luke reached up and took it.

 

ooOOoo

 

To be continued...

 


	2. Veiled Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coldness within the Force catches A Jedi's attention...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers apply...

** Insidious **

** Part Two **

The Jedi Knight

Obi-Wan paused in his chores, his hand still inside the workings of the vaporator, something was… something wasn’t right. Something was happening… the Force felt… cold.

He withdrew his hand, wiped the grease and oil onto his robe as he slowly stood and glanced around. All was as it should be….

The air was hot and still, the suns were almost at noon and the western dune sea stretched across the wastes and disappeared into the shimmering heat waves that rose from the sands. Nothing moved across the scorching landscape and only the occasional vessel left trails across the blue of the sky. All seemed as it should and yet…

… the Force felt cold.

_Listen to it, Obi-Wan. Listen to the living Force…_

He smiled, hearing his lessons of the past. Hearing the echo of his old Master’s voice. He was tempted to lower the barriers he had built these last few years; the buffers and shields that hid his presence in the Force on Tatooine. He rarely dropped them now, rarely allowed himself to be immersed within the Force lest others sense him and find him and the boy.

He missed it. He missed the touch and sense of the Force. He missed the company it gave him, its reassuring embrace… but like an old friend, he knew it was always there; always around him and ready to welcome him at any time.

And it was cold. On the periphery of his senses, it felt cold.

Disturbed, and needing to reassure himself, he closed up the vaporator and cleared away his tools. Before he left his home he opened the large wooden trunk he had bartered off a stall keeper in Anchorhead and withdrew his lightsaber; clipping it to his belt beneath his robe. He rarely carried it, only taking it out for his journeys across the dune sea and…

… a wink of light off something metallic gave him pause and he stared down into his trunk. There lay another lightsaber.

His friend’s sword.

His enemy’s weapon.

He sighed, wearily… a sound of grief and regret.

He should have killed Vader when he had the chance. He should have finished the duel. He should have listened to Yoda and believed him when he said that there was nothing left of his friend within the shell of the fledgling Sith Lord he had confronted on Mustafar. Instead he had listened to his doubts even when Vader’s actions were clear; his attack on Padme, his unrelenting pursuit of Obi-Wan even when the fight turned against him, the sheer hatred and fury that seared through the Force.

_“It is the end for you, my master…”_

_“You were my brother, Anakin…”_

Anakin…

That is why he could not kill Vader; because he had once been Anakin and Obi-Wan could no more kill the boy he had raised and trained to manhood and knighthood than he could cool the sands of Tatooine at midday.

He smiled, a little quirk of lips at the irony; he had counselled Anakin against the dangers of attachment, only to become attached himself.

And now look where it had led, look at where his folly and his fallacy had brought the Galaxy.

Ob-wan closed the lid of the trunk, lifted a small pack of essential supplies for the journey and stepped out into the blistering heat. He hesitated as the door cycled shut behind him, gauging the time of day and the hours of sunslight left; a Jedi did not fear, but neither was a Jedi reckless enough to be caught in the Jundland Wastes during the night.

Satisfied that he had enough time, he threw the pack over his shoulder and started his walk toward the Lars farmstead; the Force felt cold and the Force told him that it somehow involved Anakin’s son.

ooOOoo

The Pupil

The door to his room sliced shut and Luke breathed a sigh of relief. His aunt had fussed again. She had probed the bruising lump on his jaw and again threatened to take him straight to Fixer’s father, but this time he managed to persuade her not too. Beru had also threatened to speak to the educators at school again about the bullying, and again he had asked her not too, had pleaded with her not to make a big deal out it…

_“…. It’s not as often now and anyway, Fixer says he’s not going to be in school much longer. His dad needs him to work….”_

He wasn’t sure his aunt believed him, but she dropped the subject… didn’t even say “wait until your Uncle sees you,”… which was all he wanted. It was a good job she couldn’t see his body, couldn’t see the grazes and bruises that marked his legs, back and torso from the boots that had battered him. He’d have to make sure to keep his tunic belted tight until his body healed.

Gingerly, carefully, with his right arm bracing his chest, Luke lowered himself to sit on his bed. He winced, bit his lip; sure one of his ribs was cracked. He had lied to his aunt, it was getting worse, much worse and it was getting harder and harder to avoid running into Fixer…

_“… you are different, you threaten them, you have something within you that they sense but do not understand…”_

_“What do I have?”_

_“Destiny.”_

Could it be true? Could what the old man in the robes said be right? Did he have a destiny?

Luke screwed up his face with doubt and denial; he was a farm kid on Tatooine just like his uncle, his only destiny was the same as Uncle Owen’s; stuck on this baked rock, trying to get water from stone.

He sighed, wiped his palm on the fabric of his pants, remembering the feel of his hand in the man’s grip as he was pulled to his feet. Even under the twin suns the man’s hand had been cold, but the gnarled, bony fingers had held him tight, not letting him go.

_“I will be here tomorrow if you wish to learn more.”_

He shouldn’t do this. His aunt and uncle would not be happy at him meeting with a stranger. The man could be anything, a pirate, a slaver, a…

He shook his head, fisted his hands; torn between a desire to be free from Fixer’s beatings and his fear and wariness of the offer the man had given him.

_“What do I call you?”_

_“Why, you call me ‘Master.”_

_A twist of Indignation. “I am not a slave!”_

_A chuckle… “No, young one, you are not. You are my pupil and I am your teacher. That gives me the title of ‘Master.’”_

_“…oh…”_

Wincing at the sharp pain in his chest he shifted on his bed, lay down upon the coverlet and sank his head into his pillow. He had chores to do before the evening meal, but at this very moment all he wanted to do was close his eyes and…

“Luke!”

He grimaced at the sound of his aunt calling his name in the tone she usually used when she was going to ask something of him.

“Luke!”

He sighed, gritted his teeth against the pain, and rolled from his bed. He sorted his clothes, tightened his belt around his waist, making sure his bruises were concealed. This was all Fixer’s fault… Fixer who never stopped, Fixer who hounded him and found him no matter how hard he tried to hide or run… or pretend that the beatings no longer hurt or bothered him.

Fixer who would never stop until someone stopped him.

_“… and only you can do that. Only you can put an end to this, young one… If you allow me to teach you…”_

“Luke!”

“I’m coming, Aunt Beru!” He called, trying to hide his pain from his voice and, with new found conviction, he ran from his room before his aunt could call again.

ooOOoo

The Teacher

The boy was a quick study, much like his father before him.

Quick of mind and fleet of foot the twelve year old had absorbed all his teacher offered, followed all instruction and mastered his sword and quarter-staff footwork with only one or two pointers or corrections. He had even witnessed the child moving down the street practising his steps… an event that had resulted in yet another prolonged beating that his master had turned his back upon. After all, pain was an essential part of the boy’s training, just as pain had been a part of his own.

_“You’re dancing now, Sleemo? Hey…. Wormie can dance! Dance for us, Wormie…. Come on! Dance!”_

_A shove, a trip… a punch… a kick and the pack descended._

Every bruise was a lesson in itself. Every cut and drop of blood was an experience to be learned for without pain, without suffering, hatred had no foundation, ire had no root and fear no base. No… let the boy know this, let the boy endure, for his release and his victory will be all the sweeter for it.

Soon… soon… it would be time to open the boy. To peel back the layers and reveal his true nature and his true power.

But not yet…

He had sensed a Jedi Knight on Tatooine.

Three weeks into Skywalker’s training he had become aware of a tentative probe into the Force. A mild, questioning search as though the adept were apprehensive or unsure about their actions. There was a signature, a taste of familiarity, but it was fleeting and difficult to pin down. Someone had been alerted by the subtle changes within the Force and had become curious. It was a danger he had considered; that there may be a Jedi survivor nearby watching the Son of Skywalker and he had already considered his moves should his visits to Tatooine be discovered.

He could just take the boy, call his shuttle down from the orbiting ship and drag the boy off world and back to his seat of power to complete Luke’s training. Or, he could bide his time, train the boy here, allow Luke the satisfaction of victory over those who torment him; allow him to feel the pleasure of release, the thrill of true power and truly set his feet on the path to the Dark Side.

Yes, a game.

Twist and train the boy under the watchful gaze of the Jedi. Make the boy his servant, his supplicant, while the Jedi felt nothing more than a chill and chased his elusive feelings only to find nought. Then turn the boy against the Jedi, just as his father had been turned and unleashed against the Order and it was there, just there, that his own satisfaction lay, his own victory; the light and hope of the Jedi twisted to darkness and despair, to Sith, while they watched in blissful ignorance.

ooOOoo

The Pupil

“Hide myself?”

Luke’s question, so full of doubt and confusion, hung in the air. He sat crossed legged on the dusty floor of his master’s home and at his master’s feet. Over the last few weeks it had become so easy to think of the nameless man as “master,” that he no longer gave any though to it. He no longer cared, no longer thought it strange and the title, and his deference to it, had become second nature.

“There are some…. The Jedi… who would not understand, Luke,” his master was saying, leaning forward on the hand carved, sandstone, chair, “the Jedi will not rest until all of our kind are dead.”

“The Jedi,” he echoed, knowing that name, that title, having learned about the Jedi attempted coup at the end of the Clone Wars in his state prescribed education and, “….dead?” Luke, at almost thirteen and growing up on Tatooine, had seen death and understood what it meant, but never had he given much thought to his own death. The idea suddenly chilled him, caused a spike of anxiety in his belly. There were people, the Jedi, who would want him dead? There were people who… and something else his master had said occurred to him. “Our kind?”

“Hmmm,” and his master moved his heavy cowl back so that Luke got a rare glimpse of his master’s features; sharp, pointing nose, pale skin that Luke knew would easily burn under the Tatooine suns and blue eyes that sometimes flashed amber when hit by the light. Whenever he saw the flash of colour he wondered if his master was truly human, or of a species from a distant planet he had never heard of; some sort of shape-shifter. “I’m afraid, young Luke, that there are so few of us… so few of us left that have learned the arts that we have to hide what we are, lest we be hunted down.”

_Arts? Like painting n’ stuff….?_

_What we are?_

_We?_

_What are we?_

_What am I?_

His master chuckled as though hearing his thoughts, as though he could feel his confusion and misunderstanding.

“I hid myself for over two decades, Luke. No-one ever suspected, no-one questioned what I was… until I revealed myself to the young man who was to become my loyal apprentice.” Luke shifted his buttocks on the floor, his attention caught by his master’s voice, by the power behind it. “I have been training your body and your mind to overcome your enemies. I have been preparing you for the right moment to act against them, but there is one more thing that I need to explain before you do. One more aspect of your talents that I need to open you too, something I need to train you in. Something that has been denied to you your entire life…

…what, you really are.”

ooOOoo

The Jedi

Owen Lars had long warned him to keep his distance from the farm and from Luke and so he stood upon a bluff that looked down upon the plain of rock and sand that was the Lars’s land and homestead. It wasn’t that the farmer had any power to stop him from coming to the farm or from seeing the boy, but Obi-Wan had agreed to keep his distance to allow Luke the freedom of childhood and family. Both concepts were alien to the Jedi Order, but the Order was dead and gone and, although both Luke and his sister represented hope for a new beginning, they both deserved the best start in life that their guardians could give them without the pressures and stresses of the destiny that awaited them.

 _May await them…_ Obi-Wan reminded himself. For the future was never still, never set. Too many threads had to come together to lay a fixed path before a being. If predisposed, as Anakin was, snatches and glimpses of a future may be seen, but one had to wonder if seeing those images and following them lead to the events taking place, or if ignoring them, leaving them alone, would stop the events and lead in a different direction.

No, neither Luke, nor his sister, Leia’s, paths were set. Not yet…

A laugh, caught on the Tatooine breeze, claimed his attention and he lifted the macrobinoculars to his eyes and smiled.

This was his ninth visit to the farm in the same amount of weeks and all for the same reason; the Force was chilled and something told him… warned him... that it somehow involved Luke and yet every time he had stood here, every time he had tentatively opened himself to the Force he had felt nothing unusual from the boy.

That he had a presence in the Force was without doubt, but so did the dark haired youth currently walking beside him; all beings did. Luke’s presence was strong though, simmering just below the surface; unrecognised and unrealised. He needed opened to it, he needed to realise it, and Obi-Wan knew that when that time came his power and potential would become a beacon in the night; attracting all manner of dark creatures…

_… his father and his master…._

… and that is why Obi-Wan had agreed to stay away. Let Luke’s presence be mute in the Galaxy, let him be seen as just one more ignorant being with good reflexes and naturally heightened senses living at the edge of the Galaxy so that darkness did not come calling to claim him.

Obi-Wan closed his shields, again sensing nothing untoward from the boy, but he watched as Luke spoke with his friend… Biggs Darklighter, Luke’s only friend… with animated arms and hands. He laughed, kicked at the sand and suddenly turned to look in his direction…

_…heightened senses indeed…_

…and was that a bruise on his face?

Disturbed, concerned, Obi-Wan lowered his binoculars. Perhaps a visit to the farm was called for after all.

ooOOoo

To Be Continued...

 


	3. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke stands up for himself and Obi-Wan (Ben) Kenobi makes a visit to the Lars farmstead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous disclaimer still applies.

** Insidious  **

** Part Three **

****

The Pupil

He was different.

Everything around him was the same; the same home, the same guardians, the same township and planet, but it had all taken on a different perspective. It had become temporary, something to suffer while he awaited for his true destiny to begin.

_“You must have patience, my child, all will be revealed and explained.”_

With the echo of his master’s voice in his mind Luke pulled the rim of his sunhat down over his brow, shielding his face from the worst of the suns. Leaning against the side of the store he sighed, bored and annoyed that his aunt was taking so long inside. He would rather be elsewhere than standing about in the Anchorhead main street. He would rather be with his master. He would rather be learning more sword moves, he’d rather be learning more about…

_“… have you ever heard of The Force?”_

The Force!

He had learned so much. He had learned about a power he had. He had learned that it came from within and that it was his to do with as he pleased. He had been taught to sense it, to feel it, to use it and manipulate it…

… to hide it.

He grinned, glanced around and, satisfied that no-one was watching him, he sent a small stone skittering across the roadway with only the thought in his head.

He had been taught to use the power to enhance his strength, his speed and agility. He had learned how to control it and himself.

His master had been pleased.

_“You show the same strength your father did at your age. He, too, was a quick study.”_

_The sudden mention of his sire brought Luke’s head up to gaze in excitement upon his teacher’s face. “My father? You knew my father?”_

_A smile, a soft murmur of humour, “Yes, I knew Anakin well. He became a Dark Lord of the Sith.”_

_A Lord? His father hadn’t been a Lord of…._

_“Sith…” he echoed in wonder, the word feeling strange on his tongue._

_His master allowed him time to ponder the word and its meaning. He could feel his master’s blue eyes on him, weighing him, judging him, and Luke knew that more was to come._

_“Your father defended me when the Jedi rose up against the Chancellor and the Republic.”_

_Luke’s mind raced over his history lessons, wishing he had paid more attention in class; The Jedi rebellion had happened at the end of the Clone Wars and…_

_“My father didn’t fight in the Wars,” he denied, repeating what he had been told by his aunt and Uncle whenever he had asked about his father. “He was just a navigator on a Spice freighter.”_

_His master laughed, cackled with delight. “I wonder what your father would think if he heard of his accomplishments being reduced to petty criminal acts.” A hand was laid upon his shoulder, a gesture of friendship, of ownership. “Oh, my child, you have so much to learn about your father, so much to learn about yourself.”_

_“Myself?”_

_The gnarled hand on his shoulder lightly squeezed and his master bent down to look him in the eye and again there was that flash of yellow in the irises. “You are strong with the Force, young one. You have the potential to become as great, if not greater, than your sire. You, my boy, are Sith.”_

_“Sith…” He tried the word again, feeling the Force hum in anticipation._

_His master smiled. “It is almost time, my young friend. Almost time to use your gifts, but you must show caution lest the Jedi sense you. That will be your test… if you pass it then I shall teach you so much more.”_

“Hey, Skywalker, dreaming of worms again?”

The derision in Fixer’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, shattered his reverie and day dreams.

He wasn’t Sith. At least not yet… He was still Luke Skywalker and he was still stuck here waiting for his aunt to come out of the store.

For now.

“Leave me alone, Fix.”

“Leave me alone, Fix,” the larger boy sang in mimic, his voice high pitched and mocking. “You’re leaning against my wall, Wormie. You’re standing on my sand. You know what happens when you touch my stuff.”

Luke pushed up from the wall, his heart beginning to race. He glanced at the door, the shadowed opening was empty. His aunt was still inside, probably gossiping. He looked the other way, saw people he knew walking the dusty street.

“No-one’s gonna help you and that old man hasn’t been around for weeks.”

It was true, his Master had been gone for a while, for longer than usual and he often wondered what it was that kept his master away for days, sometimes weeks on end.

He was on his own.

_It is time…_

Biting back a sudden grin, Luke looked directly at the larger boy and was immediately punched in the face. He staggered back. “I told you to never look at me, Wormie.”

Luke placed a hand to his cheek, his eye. A pair of hands grabbed him, spun him around and he was propelled down the side of the store to an alley that was partially shadowed by the surrounding buildings. He was shoved, fell to the ground, was kicked in the ribs. Winded he doubled over, gasping for breath, one hand cradling his body, one hand grabbing a fistful of sand.

Fixer was also alone.                                                                         

“Get up, Skywalker… you echuta Kung…”

Luke pushed up, stood, warily watching the older boy. “Where are your friend’s, Fix?”

“I can take you on my own, Skywalker.”

_It is time…_

The whisper in the Force was like an echo of his master’s voice.

It was time. It was time to end this. It was time to prove himself to his master. He could feel it. He just had to control it, just enough to do this, but not enough to give himself away.

Luke licked his lips, grinned and called the Force too him.

“Give it your best shot, Fixer.”

ooOOoo

The Jedi Knight

Obi-Wan didn’t need the Force to tell him the boy was hiding something. The deception was in Luke’s voice and in his gait. It was in how he carried himself and in the bruises on his face. The Jedi watched as the thirteen year old bounded down the steps and crossed the atrium of the farmstead to the covered dining room.

Blond of hair, blue of eyes and so much like his father that Obi-Wan’s heart ached.

Beru set a cup before him and filled it with water and Obi-Wan took a long drink, relishing the feel of the liquid as it wet his throat after his walk in the suns.

“Luke,” Beru smiled, welcoming the boy who now eyed him with recognition and suspicion. They had met before of course, but now there was something else in the boy’s demeanour. “You remember Ben, don’t you?”

The boy threw himself into a chair and Obi-Wan saw the fleeting wince; it was there and gone. It was obvious he was hiding some hurt from his aunt, just as his father used to hide his pains from his master. To be a Skywalker, one had to be stronger and carry more than anyone else. To be a Skywalker, one had to conceal their true feelings.

Except Luke couldn’t hide the swelling and bruising currently colouring his left eye and cheek bone.

“That looks painful,” The Jedi observed before Luke could utter a greeting.

Fingers tentatively felt the lump. “It’s okay,” the boy lied with a glanced at his aunt as she smoothed her skirts and sat at the table with them. “It’ll heal.”

Obi-Wan could feel the boy’s tension, his unspoken questions about why Kenobi was here. “I have found a poultice of Funnel leaves and Eopie milk to be most effective… if a little fragrant,” he smiled with a wink at the youth.

Luke grinned back, but the mirth didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine, sir.”

Obi-Wan finished his water, and slapped his hands on his thighs. “Well, I had best be going. Thank you, Beru, for the water, it was most refreshing. New filters?”

Beru Lars smiled, shook her head. “No… Luke takes care of the homestead vapaorator. He’s very good with his hands. He has a knack with machinery.”

“A very handy gift to have in these parts, no doubt,” Kenobi commented with a grin at his bad pun. “You are a credit to your aunt and uncle, young Luke.”

Luke shrugged, nonchalantly, not enjoying the praise, or the attention. “I like fixing things.”

It was on the tip of Obi-Wan’s tongue to say it, to acknowledge it…

_“Just like your father….”_

…but he remembered his agreement with Lars. No mention of his father, no acknowledgement of Anakin Skywalker. Not now. Not Yet. Perhaps never…

Obi-Wan rose, nodding to Beru. “Perhaps young Luke could see me out?”

“If you waited a little while, Owen will be home. He could take you in the speeder to your place,” Beru offered, standing and clearing away Obi-Wan’s cup.

“No… no…” Kenobi declined, smiling, “the sands are cooling now the suns are falling. My journey home will be more comfortable.”

Luke also dragged himself from the table, the frown of confusion clear on his face and Obi-Wan knew the boy was wondering why he had been shouted from his room to spend a few moments with the desert hermit and all round weird old guy.

“Luke,” Beru was saying, “please see Mr Kenobi to the homestead perimeter. No further… you have chores before uncle gets home.”

The boy sighed, “Yes, ma’am,” as though the task set before him was the worst punishment ever. He eyed Kenobi with suspicion before plodding from the room with drooping shoulders.

Ben grinned at Beru, and commented. “I found twelve to sixteen years the worst with…” he trailed off, knowing Beru would understand of whom he spoke. “I would wish you luck,” he quipped, “but I don’t believe in it.”

Beru Lars nodded, not returning the Jedi’s smile. “See if he will speak to you,” she pleaded. “Every day he comes home with new bruises and the other boys in town… well, they say they haven’t touched him for weeks.”

“And you believe them?”

Troubled, Beru looked down at the empty cup in her hands. “Not at all… but… this time Fixer had his own bruises, his arm was in a cast.”

“You think Luke fought back?” Deep concern filled Obi-Wan. If Luke had, somehow, unconsciously used the Force…. If he had given into his fear, hatred and anger at his bullies and allowed…

…No! He would have felt it. He would have felt an uncontrolled surge in the Force. He would have known if that had happened. He had felt nothing in the last few days, not even the cold that infused the Force from time to time.

“I don’t know,” Beru’s eyes came back up to meet his. “Help him, Obi-Wan.”

Ben nodded, seeing her worry and helplessness. “I’ll do what I can, Beru.”

Luke was waiting for him by the steps that lead up and out of the homestead and the boy bounded ahead him taking two steps at a time with youthful impatience. He caught up with him just outside the farmstead dome.

“She asked you to speak to me, didn’t she?” Luke’s tone was an accusation, those bright eyes flashing with annoyance.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan admitted, throwing his hood over his head, “your aunt is concerned about you, as am I. That is an impressive bruise on your face. Is there something you wish to tell someone?”

Luke glanced away, began to walk, his reluctance to speak evident even without the aid of The Force.

Kenobi kept pace, but allowed the silence to draw out.

At last Luke stopped. “You won’t tell my aunt?”

“Well, that depends on what it is that you want kept a secret. If I believe there is a danger, or a threat to you then I may have to speak to your guardians.”

The boy hesitated, looked down, scuffed his shoes in the sand, and Obi-Wan could feel the boy battling with his wish to hide, his wish to keep his secret. Then his hand crept into his pocket and he withdrew a short blade. The knife-edge glinted in the late afternoon suns. It was new, unused.

“I saved up my allowance for it,” Luke confessed. He looked torn, ashamed and yet defiant.

Obi-Wan held out his hand. “Please, Luke…”

With some reluctance, and with some relief, Luke placed the knife into Obi-Wan’s palm. “I thought… I just need to defend myself, sir.”

Obi-Wan pocketed the lethal blade, thinking to himself that a Padawan of Luke’s age would have built their own lightsaber by now and in the Clone Wars they would have already faced combat, would have already killed or been killed. “Defend yourself from whom?”

“The kids in town give me a hard time.”

“Yes, I know,” he confessed watching Luke closely. “Your aunt told me. She tells me that you won’t speak about it.”

“She fusses,” Luke started walking again. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You started carrying a blade for nothing?” Kenobi kept pace, taking a risk he allowed the Force to trickle through. He reached out and tentatively touched Luke’s presence before adding, baiting, “When I was younger I would have been proud of that bruise…”

_... annoyance, a weary acceptance that he had no choice but to engage in this conversation. A jaded understanding that he faced more taunts and torture from the youths who tormented him and a desire for it to end…_

“…had I earned it in a fair fight, but I understand that the fights you have faced can hardly be called fair.”

_…a flash of anger, resentment…_

“I’m smaller than them, Mr Kenobi…”

“…call me, Ben.”

“… and there is only one of me.”

“What about your friend, Biggs?” Obi-Wan asked

Luke shrugged his shoulders, winced. “They don’t touch me when he’s around, but his dad’s rich so he’s schooled in Mos Eisley… we don’t see each other too often during term times...”

Luke hesitated, licked his lip and squinted up at Obi-Wan as he debated trusting this adult. Obi-Wan waited, feeling Luke’s uncertainty. Then…

“…Biggs says they pick on me because I’m different to them.”

Obi-Wan nodded, smiling, pleased that Luke had taken the risk of trusting him. “He could very well be correct.”

“What do you mean, Mr Kenobi?”

Such an innocent question; the child truly could not see the potential of greatness within him.

“Please call me ‘Ben,’” Obi-Wan said again. He stopped, placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Luke, you will find in life that beings feel threatened by people, places and events that they do not understand.”

“I threaten _them_?” Luke snorted and turned away dislodging Obi-Wan’s hand. “I’m the one they pick on, Mr Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan sighed, afraid that he had lost Luke with an ill-advised choice of words…

_…so much for the Negotiator…_

…but it had been a long time since he had spoken with a child and, truth be told, there were times when he had struggled with Anakin. A lot of times!

“Yes, because they see you as different…”

“That’s what I told you Biggs says...” Luke was exasperated, frustration clipping his words. “How am I different? I don’t want to be different…”

Now, that was a lie. But it would have been a lie for many beings. Luke wanted a different life to the one he had, that much was clear. Luke wanted a different future to the life his peers had on this Forceforsaken planet, but right at this moment he didn’t want to be different so that his torment would stop.

“But you are different, Luke,” Obi-Wan told him and the boy turned to him and Obi-Wan thought he saw a sharpness in Luke’s face, a cunning that wasn’t there before. It gave him pause and he reached into the Force once more and felt…

_… nothing. A curiosity, a colouring of aggravation… but nothing more…_

“You don’t want to be a farmer, you are not content with this life, nor the future you see before your friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” Luke said bitterly. He didn’t look at Kenobi, he let his gaze drift off the horizon and Obi-Wan could feel the yearning of a better life within him. A life of meaning.

“That’s where you are different to them, Luke. They know that the life they have is not the life you want. They know that you have a different destiny to them… and envy is a powerful emotion.” He started walking again, still heading to the boundary of the Lars’ land, smiling when he heard Luke’s footsteps running to catch up.

“They’re jealous?” The boy questioned from beside him. Incredulity underscored his words. “They beat me up because they’re jealous?”

Obi-Wan nodded, “Partly… But you are also younger, smaller and therefore an easy target for those who wish power but have none…” he grinned, and joked, “…and there was that little incident with the sand-worms.”

Luke screwed his face up, but was quiet for a while and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the border where Obi-Wan stopped and waited for Luke to speak.

“So, how do I get them to stop?”

“Not with a weapon, Luke,” Obi-Wan told him simply, feeling a like a hypocrite; how many times had he used his own blade to stop a bully picking on the weak, “but by showing them that they have no power over you,”

“How do I do that?”

And that, unfortunately, was the million-credit question for what worked for one person did not necessarily work for another. “In my experience I found that by remaining calm, finding out what the aggressor needed or wanted and being prepared to negotiate mostly worked.”

“Mostly?” There was humour in Luke’s voice, a little flash in his eyes.

The Jedi sadly smiled as he thought of the boy’s father once more…

_… I hate you!..._

There was no negotiating there… No talking sense to Anakin.

“Yes, mostly.” He brought his thoughts away from Anakin Skywalker, dismissed his memories and looked to the now where the suns were gradually making their way down to the Horizon. “Well, if I am to be home before dark I had best take my leave of you, young Luke.”

Luke nodded his goodbye and Obi-Wan could feel the boy’s eyes on him as he walked away and finally the curiosity bubbled to the surface.

“Mr Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan smiled, shook his head, kept walking.

“Mr Ken… Ben?”

Obi-Wan stopped, turned around.

“You said they knew I had a destiny different to theirs.”

“I did,” the Jedi acknowledged. “That I did.”

“What’s my destiny?”

Another million-credit question.

“Well, young Luke, that is for you to discover,” Obi-Wan bowed slightly and turned to walk quickly away all the while aware of the boy still staring at his back.

ooOOoo

To be continued....

 


	4. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While eager to tell his Master what he has learned, Luke is taught yet another lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Previous Disclaimer Still Applies

The Teacher

Long before his shuttle broke through the atmosphere of the desert world he could feel the boy’s presence in the remote and deserted dwelling he had taken as his Tatooine home. In the time it took for him to transfer from ship to speeder to destination the child’s anticipation was flaring excitedly within the Force, and yet… it was tempered, hidden from all bar his Master. The boy knew something, had gained a knowledge that he was desperate to share with his teacher and, as the portal of the building opened to admit him, his pupil was already kneeling on the floor.

“You have news for me?”

“Yes, Master!”

He crossed to the only piece of furniture in the large room; it had once been a simple block of sand stone, but he’d hired a sculptor to carve a chair from the rock and it was from there that he taught the boy, it was from there that he imparted his knowledge to his latest protégé, while the sculptor lay rotting in a sandy grave behind the property.

Sitting and gesturing with his hands, he intoned. “Then rise, young one, and tell me what you have learned.”

As he had been taught, Luke stood at ease with his hands behind his back. The posture one of calmness while inside his feelings were wild with agitation. “A Jedi came to the farm.”

The Force chilled within the room; he could feel the Dark Side recoil at this news. At the last the Jedi had made a move. “Are you sure?”

The boy nodded, his eagerness to please evident in his tones. “Yes, Master. I’ve known him most of my life. He came to the farm, I could feel him try and read me. That’s how I knew what he was and…”

“Does the Jedi suspect?” He snapped, ready to punish the boy should he have failed in his task. It concerned him that the Jedi had been around the boy for so long. Why had the knight not made a move to train Skywalker’s child?

“No, Master,” the boy intoned, shaking his head, blond locks catching the sun that filtered through the open door. There was pride in his voice, a confidence and assurance that belied his years. “I have been careful. I have hidden as you taught, projected only what he expected to find. I did as you said and redirected his attention.”

“Explain.”

Luke raised his head, a small smile curling his lips. “I could feel he knew I was hiding something. I gave him a knife, pretended it was that I hid. I let him feel my emotions… how I felt when Fixer beat on me. He was satisfied, I could feel it.”

The boy was indeed strong; talented and clever.

“And does our adversary have name?”

“Yes, Master. Ben. Ben Kenobi.”

_Kenobi!_

The Force thrilled around him… At last Obi-Wan Kenobi scuttles out from the hole he had dug for himself, at last he is pulled into the open by the lure of the boy. It was all so obvious now. Kenobi had bested Vader on Mustafar. Kenobi had taken Amidala and so it made sense that Kenobi had been the one to secret away the child upon his birth and deliver him to Anakin Skywalker’s step-kin.

Kenobi believed that Luke had been safely hidden from his father and his master… Oh, if only the Jedi knew how much he had failed and how far the boy had already fallen into darkness.

“What do we do, Master?”

“Do? Why child, we do nothing,” he grinned at the confusion on the boy’s face, enjoying his secret game. It was time to further ensnare the boy. He leaned forward, his bony hands grasping the armrests of the stone chair. “The Jedi is here to watch you,” he explained, watching the boy’s expression, feeling the boy’s emotions spike. “You are the son of his adversary, the man who hunted down and destroyed the Jedi Order, and he is here to kill you should you show the same abilities as your father.”

The shadow of fear crossed Luke’s face and the blue eyes darkened. The young heart beat with consternation and panic. He stepped forward, breaking his stance. “Then we should strike first as you taught. We should…”

He suddenly stood, causing the boy to take a step back again. His ire was pure; a sheer scorching heat, energy crackled over his knuckles. It was a small infraction; he had previously ignored similar, or had gently chided. However, things were shifting, changing and the boy needed to be taught a lesson. “Never question my judgement!” he spat in fury.

There was a burst of Light, a sharp yell of pain and Luke was propelled backwards to land hard on his back. He skidded across the sandy floor, the crackling Force energy dissipating.

It was just a touch, just enough.

The teacher took a step forward and the boy cringed, arm thrown up in a feeble attempt at defence.

“I…” Luke gasped, stumbling over his words, his confusion and hurt clear on his face. Never had his master lifted a hand to him. Never had he seen his master like this. Never had he feared his master before this moment and… the boy paled as he suddenly realised, suddenly felt, how absolutely powerful his Master was.

He smiled at the boy’s horror, at the teenager’s abrupt understanding.

“Master I…”

“I am Darth Sidious,” he hissed, finally giving the boy a name. “I am The Dark Lord of the Sith and you will know your place, young one.”

He pointed in the direction of the empty chair, at a spot on floor just in front of it. Immediately he could see the awareness strike at the heart of his pupil; Luke understood what the gesture meant. The boy glanced to the door, glanced at the sun and sand beyond the shadow of this place and Sidious grinned as he sensed the sudden surge within the boy.

Luke wanted to run.

“Ah, my child,” he soothed, the anger still present, still threatening. He was about to teach yet another lesson. It was time to fully explain his pupil’s position. “You think to take your chances with the Jedi? You think to leave, to abandon me and your teachings now? Your training is incomplete, you are not yet strong enough to survive without me. How long will you last without my protection?”

Still the boy looked to the door. Just as his father had looked to the Jedi and had betrayed him…

_“I am going to turn you over to the Jedi council”_

_“But you are not sure of their intentions, are you?”_

…only to join him a few hours later.

_“I pledge myself to your teachings.”_

Anakin had run… would the boy?

“Without me the Jedi will sense you, find you… and he will not suffer you to live.”

Still Luke lay on the floor. Still he stared at the door with chest heaving and limbs trembling. His need… his want to run… coursing through him with rushing adrenalin. But he was hesitating; he was torn between his loyalty to his Master and Teacher, who had given him so much, and the sun and the warmth and light of the freedom that lay just beyond the open door.

“Only I can give you the freedom your desire. Only I can help you, Luke. Only I have the answers to the questions you ask. Only I can give you the power to defeat the Jedi who guards you. Only I can save you from Kenobi.”

He returned to his chair, sat and clasped his hands on his lap; waiting for the boy to accept the reality of his situation. There was nowhere for him to go. There never was, just as it had been for his father.

There was only him. There was only the Dark Side.

“If you leave now,” he warned, “you will die.”

He would kill the boy himself, if he had to.

He watched, ready to act, as Luke dragged his eyes away from the sunlit door and looked to the sand on the floor, looked to the place where he had often sat crossed legged captivated by his master’s voice.

The Place.

His place.

Where he was safe from the Jedi beyond the door.

With a sigh, that was both defeat and acceptance, Luke dragged himself from the floor. He licked his lips in indecision, wiped the tears of pain from his face, and not daring to look upon his master’s face he lowered himself to his knees, his head bowed. “I...,” his voice was heavy with doubt, with uncertainty and fright, but still the boy submitted. He knew he had no other choice. “My… apologies, Master,” he whispered, “I meant no disrespect.”

Sidious smiled, he reached out and placed a gentle hand upon the bowed, blond head. “Have patience. The Jedi will be dealt with in time,” He told his pupil, his anger waning.

The tension in the room faded to simmer quietly within the Force, but he did not doubt that it would rise again for he sensed a spark of rebellion in this boy and he knew that Luke would question his authority again and would have to be put down more sharply, be taught a lesson he truly would never forget.

“Once you have grown, once you are strong enough, we will entice this Jedi out with bait he cannot resist and he will be cut down. Meantime, his presence will serve you as a reminder against failure. He is aware and he is watching, if he ever suspects what you are, what you are becoming, he will act against you, against me.

“Our fate, the fate of the Sith, lies in your hands young one. Choose your actions wisely.”

“Yes, Master,” Luke’s cheeks were warm with shame, with humiliation. He had almost failed his master, had almost ruined it all and his anger burned deeply. Anger at himself, at the Jedi and at his master.

“Now,” Sidious deliberately lightened his voice, grinning at the flare of hate within the Force from the boy, “you have more news for me, yes? Stand and tell me of your tormentor.”

With relief at the switch of topic, the change of his master’s mood, Luke stood and at last raised his eyes to his teacher. “I have dealt with him, master.”

There was pride in the boy’s voice. Pride of accomplishment. There was also pleasure, that dark shiver of delight that rested within when retribution had been fulfilled. Darkness wanted this boy, yearned for him. He wanted this boy and all the power he possessed and Luke was becoming a willing vassal.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“He will never touch me again. I made sure of it.” Skywalker’s voice was thick with his victory, the teenage tones deepening to a man’s.

Sidious sat straighter in his chair, in surprise and in concern. Had the boy over-reacted? Had the boy left a mess behind him as his father so often did? “You killed him?”

“No, master…” and suddenly Luke seemed unsure, afraid that he had failed, afraid that his master would punish once more. The boy’s voice returned. “Should I have?”

“No, my child…” he pacified, gently, “that would have brought unwanted attention to you. You did exactly as I wished. You have overcome your weakness, stood up to those who would have power over you and defeated them. You used your powers and yet remained hidden from the Jedi. You have brought him out of hiding and exposed him. I am pleased.

“You are strong with the Dark Side of the Force. Someday you will be a powerful Sith like your father before you.”

The youth’s sudden happiness was blinding in the Force, causing his master to wince with the light.

Eager, Luke instinctively returned to his knee, to the floor. “You’ll teach me more?”

“Yes, young one. I will teach you it all…

ooOOoo

To be Continued


	5. Revelations and Accomplishments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Sidious enjoys playing games... and Luke Skywalker likes to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who have been reading and, again, a special thanks to those taking the time to leave some very kind comments.
> 
> We are about half way through the tale now (It has grown as I have edited the draft version... ).
> 
> I am posting unbeta read... so please point out errors as you find them! I have found that no matter how often I read and edit something always slips through. Although please bear in mind that I write British English.
> 
> All Previous disclaimers for the story still apply...

** Insidious **

** Part Five **

The Father

Darth Vader stood in the cavernous hangar bay of the Devastator watching as the Emperor’s shuttle settled onto the deck. He could feel the tension in the assembled troopers, pilots and officers, could feel their fear and trepidation. It was not every day that the ruler of the known Galaxy deigned to tour his fleet, but now, seventeen years after the creation of the Empire he had decided it was time to inspect the troops that he usually ignored but who he expected to do his bidding nonetheless.

The hatch cracked and the ramp began to lower as the shuttle vented hissing gases into the hangar. Vader lowered himself to one knee, felt the soldiers around him stiffen to attention.

The ramp touched the deck and even above the noise of the gases, the rasp of his own breathing, Vader could hear his Master’s cane tap-tapping as he began his descent from the shuttle. He knew Palpatine did not need the walking aid. He knew the stick was to portray himself as benign, as weak and as feeble as any of his subjects.

It was a ruse of course. A trick designed to put people at ease, to allow them to drop their guard and defences and thus leave them open to Palpatine’s insidious manipulations or to bring them closer to him so that he could viciously strike against them.

Vader had seen many drawn close and he had seen many of their bloodied corpses dragged, feet first, from the throne room. Vader, however, never forgot what his master was. He never forgot what he was capable of, no matter how weak Palpatine may appear. He never forgot who Palpatine was; Darth Sidious, Dark Master of the Sith.

“Rise, My friend.”

Vader stood, fell in at Palpatine’s side. “The ship is read for your inspection, Master. The fleet is….”

“I am not here to inspect the fleet, or your ship, Lord Vader.”

There was a beat as Vader considered this, his surprise and sudden unease rippling through the Force. “Master, I have not been made aware of any changes to your itinerary.”

“I am making you aware now,” Palpatine bit, then his tones softened. “You have been curious these last few years of my frequent cancelations of court, of my absences from Imperial Centre.”

Vader allowed a regulated breath to pass before answering. It was true he had been curious, he had been intrigued and suspicious about his Master’s absences and had attempted to surreptitiously find out what his master was doing, what his master was planning. But his attempts had always been thwarted; his spies openly killed or simply disappeared. His questions, put to the crew members of the vessels his Master travelled on, remained unanswered. The officers, loyal to the end, stayed tight lipped until they died with his hand around their throats. Searches of the ships logs revealed only banal routes through the core systems and no destinations and he was sure they were fake, a ruse to divert his attention. Palpatine hadn’t even visited the Death Star; now in its final stages of construction.

It had been frustrating, but Vader had eventually given up looking, grew used to his master’s breaks from protocol and the Empire only grew stronger. His own position remained untouched and unchallenged; although he knew envious eyes coveted his closeness to Palpatine and that the Grand Moff Tarkin had his eye on the throne.

“Yes, Master,” he conceded, saying nothing else as they walked, knowing that Palpatine would tell him in his own time. He could feel his master’s amusement, his enjoyment of Vader’s ignorance and his satisfaction of a game well won.

They stepped into the corridor of the ship, walked in silence as passing crew members stopped and kneeled as they passed; Palpatine’s cane ever tapping on the floor. They stepped into a turbo lift.

“I have found something, Lord Vader,” Palpatine said at last, as the door slid shut and the lift began to move.

Again, Vader remained silent waiting for his master to speak.

“I had been curious all these years about what happened on Mustafar…”

Vader’s heartrate suddenly spiked, cold horror pooled in his belly and adrenalin rushed with his searing fury at the name of that hateful place and all it meant for him; the agony of defeat, the loss of his wife and child; his imprisonment in this suit.

“…I had often wondered about your statement, your steadfast belief that Amidala was alive, your denial that you had killed her and your visions of her death in child birth.” He paused, allowed Vader the time to contemplate his words, allowing all the memories to roil his anger and hatred. “Tell me, Lord Vader, do you dream of Tatooine?”

Caught off guard by the question Vader could only question. “Tatooine?”

His Master was right. He did dream of Tatooine. He dreamed of a childhood lost, of a mother dead. He dreamed of the farm where her bones lay, he dreamed of blue sky and wisps of white clouds. He dreamed of sand and hardship and of young, tanned, hands toiling under the suns.

“Occasionally,” he reluctantly relented, “they mean nothing.”

Palpatine chuckled beside him. It was a sound of glee. A sound of victory.

“Oh, my apprentice. They mean everything.”

Vader turned his helmet, looked down at the man who had raised him up from the ashes and given his focus and purpose. “Master, I do not understand.”

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and they continued in silence through the ship to the suite of rooms that had been prepared for Palpatine. At last they were alone once more, and the Emperor dropped the cane and walked unaided to the large view port to look upon the planet that had once been Coruscant and the seat of the Republic. It now held the power of the Empire and the shimmering towers of the Republic now reflected a dimmer glow; the sunlight blocked and hampered by the many low orbiting ships that pampered to Palpatine’s paranoia.

Imperial Centre must be fortified, must be defended. Quite who it was to be defended from, Vader was never quite sure, for there was no organisation in the Galaxy capable of launching an attack on any Imperial stronghold, least of all against the bastion of the Empire. Not even the few dissenting voices of Rebellion across the galaxy were a threat; they were but a few shouting in the dark without leadership and organisation and he had been swift to silence them all.

Vader waited for his master to speak, to continue their conversation, his impatience growing with every passing moment of silence; knowing that Palpatine was playing with him, baiting him.

“Amidala did not die on Mustafar, my friend,” Palpatine finally stated, not turning around to look upon his apprentice. “I have been unable to trace the place where she passed, but I am sure now that she was alive, at least for a while, following your attack on her.”

Vader bowed his head, images flashing through his mind; reds and blacks, her betrayal, her face as she gasped for breath and clutched at her throat as she struggled to release the fingers around her windpipe, fingers that existed only in his mind as he reached out to…

“I fear that she was gravely wounded and that she did eventually die of the injuries you inflicted,” there was no accusation in the Emperor’s voice, he was simply stating a fact and letting Vader know that he remained responsible for his wife’s death and then, after yet another prolonged pause, he turned around and uttered the words that he had been longing to say for the last four years since finding the boy on Tatooine.

“But not before she birthed your son.”

ooOOoo

The Pupil

Luke pulled back on the control column sending his T-Sixteen Skyhopper soaring into the sky. He yelled in delight at the rush it gave him, at the feeling of pure adrenalin flowing into his bloodstream; his heart pounded, his stomach twisted… he felt alive! Flying was what he had been born for... this was his destiny!

_“You were born to be Sith.”_

He grimaced at the echo of his master’s voice. Shook away the whispered words that his master had often repeated.

_“You are Sith…”_

His master’s visits had lessened these last few years; since he had discovered the identity of the Jedi. The gaps between his lessons had become longer and longer and Luke had to wonder if this was deliberate or just something else he had to learn. It had been three months since he had last seen Sidious and he had begun to fear…

_…hope…_

…that perhaps something had happened, that perhaps his master had become ill or that some other mishap had occurred. He had thought that he had been forgotten, that his master had found another pupil on whom to turn his attention.

Luke fought the urge to reach out into the Force and seek his Master, but it was strictly forbidden and the Jedi, Kenobi, might sense such a move. No, he must live as a farmboy, but practice and train as Sith in his master’s absence while hiding within the veil of the Dark Side. That was his only mission, his given task.

But, now… He grinned. Now he had flying!

It had taken months of pestering his uncle… he’d even tried to use a mind trick, to no avail and a strange look from Owen Lars who clearly thought that Luke had a few lose circuits… but now he had the T-Sixteen and, after spending hours on her taking her engine apart and rebuilding it, he now owned the slickest, fasted ship, in the area. Not even Biggs’ ‘hopper could match it.

Not that anyone knew. He had been careful not to show it off; he had learned that caution from his master.

_“Do not give cause for suspicion of your gifts, do not bring attention to yourself in any aspect of your life. Keep hidden, my apprentice, for your enemies will not recognise what you are until it is too late…”_

Grinning, he abruptly shoved the control stick down, pressed hard on the pedal and sent his craft barrelling down, banking hard left to plummet into the canyon below.

“Luke!” A voice yelled in his ear over the comm. “What the hell are you doing?!”

_I’ve kept hidden… now it’s too late!_

He laughed, ignoring the howls from the others in the race. He had the lead! He banked right, his wing tips millimetres from the canyon walls as he took the corner.

“Luke!” Biggs shouted, frantically. “That’s the wrong way! Luke…”

The walls of sand stone rushed passed the cockpit and he had to lift the craft up to avoid the boulders that littered the canyon floor and….

“Luke! Watch it!”

He blanked left, right and left again, slaloming around jutting protuberances and slammed on the speed to drop under a rocky bridge, his engine backdraft sending up a cloud of sand from the canyon floor…

“Kark, Luke! You’re gonna kill yourself,” Biggs called again. “Slow it down!”

Not a chance… not this time… this time… It was his turn.

There was fork just up ahead and…

“Break right, Luke! Break right!”

He took left.

Ignoring the screaming in his ear he pushed his ‘hopper on. The engine screeched in protest, the little ship began to shudder and, despite the noise, despite the air rushing passed the canopy and the yelling over the comm, all fell silent around him as he focused on only one thing. His goal, his chance to shine, to prove himself once and for all.

Taking a dangerous risk, he dropped his shield, immersed himself in the Force. He could feel his ship, could feel the air around him, could sense the path he had to take to succeed and he gently eased his stick to make minute course corrections. He ignored his sensors, ignored the alarms beginning to sound in his cockpit and at the last minute he closed his eyes and sent his Skyhopper sailing through Beggars Canyon’s Stone Needle.

Seconds passed and he cautiously opened his eyes and saw blue sky above him and sand below. He was out of the canyon!

He’d done it!

He let out a whooping breath, yelled in victory and could barely hear the cacophony of calls over the comm above the thundering of his heart.

He’d threaded the Stone Needle!

Luke was the first one to land at Tosche Station. He leapt out into the heat of the afternoon and stood grinning beside his Skyhopper as he watched the others trail in one after the other. Engines slowly cut out, whines dying down and canopies popped open. No-one was smiling, as they trooped passed him into the cool of the building with Fixer, as always, taking the lead. The older boy… now a man… glared at him, but he said nothing just rubbed unconsciously at the arm Luke had broken Four years before in an alley way.

Biggs came last and rounded on him as soon as they were alone.

“What the kark, Luke! What hell were you playing at!”

“I won!” Luke explained, confused by the attack, confused by being ignored by the others and the anger he felt from them all. “I threaded the needle!”

“You nearly killed yourself!”

“I never got a scratch! Not on me and not on the ‘hopper!”

“What would I have told your aunt and uncle, Luke? What would I have said, huh?” Biggs retorted, angrily. “I promised them to keep an eye on you, and you pull that stunt on me because you wanted to impress the others?”

“That’s not…”

“But it is, Luke!” Biggs yelled, his voice shaking with fading adrenalin and fear. “You could have killed yourself just because you want to be accepted.”

Rage began to replace elation. Disappointment and rejection were familiar emotions for Luke, but never had he felt it from Biggs. “Biggs I…”

Biggs sighed, swept back his sweat damp hair, his anger failing. “Luke… you’re never gonna learn, are you?”

“You’re just jealous because I did it younger than you!” Luke accused, his fists bunched as he turned away, daring for Biggs to reach out and touch him because if he did then…

A touch in the Force, a mild curiosity.

_The Jedi!_

He swallowed his instinctive reaction to turn around and look for Kenobi, was acutely aware of how dangerous a position he was now in. He was being watched and his mind raced, had the Jedi felt him channelling the Force during the race. Could the Jedi feel his anger now… Did Kenobi suspect?

“Luke,” Biggs did reach out, did take his arm and turn him around.

Luke allowed him, too.

“What?” he mumbled, sulking now as he would do if he were a simple farmboy and not a Sith.

“I’m sorry…”

“Yeah, me too,” Luke looked to the ground, to his boots scuffing in the sand. He was still very aware of the Jedi’s presence somewhere nearby.

“That… that was some flying,” Biggs conceded, a smile now in his voice.

“You think?” Luke asked, at last looking up at his friend, his lips beginning to curl into a genuine smile again.

“Yeah,” Biggs breathed, also smiling. “Dammit, Luke. I’ve never seen anything like. The speed you were at when you threaded the needle, that was…. Well, it was dumb, but kark, Luke, that was incredible!”

The traces of anger drained away. He knew Biggs was genuine, knew his friend wasn’t lying. “I told you I would do it someday!”

Biggs swore again. “Someday, yeah… not less than six months since getting the ‘hopper, kid.”

Luke could feel the Jedi move again, the old man’s touch in the Force beginning to fade as he grew satisfied that all he had sensed was Luke’s innate instincts at work and he couldn’t help but grin, not just at Biggs’ praise, but at his ability to fool the Jedi. “I just knew I could do it!”

Biggs was quiet for a moment and Luke chose the silence to turn around and lounge against his ‘hopper. Looking up and past his friend he could make out Kenobi’s brown robes disappearing around the corner of a building on the outskirts of town.

“You do realise, Luke,” Biggs explained, quietly, “that the others… that Fixer… isn’t going to like this… they aren’t going to accept you just because you beat the pants off them.”

Luke kept his eye on the building, watching should Kenobi appear again. “Don’t worry about Fixer, Biggs. He and I came to an understanding years ago…”

ooOOoo

To be continued...

 


	6. Eavesdropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy could not walk the path of the Force alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply...

** Insidious **

** Part Six **

The Jedi

Obi-Wan closed the door behind him, shrugged off his cloak and hung it on the hook that he had driven into the wall a few days after he had moved into the dwelling. He glanced around, taking in the small abode that had become his home some seventeen years before. Owen Lars had helped him find the place, had helped him repair the weather damage and clear out the accumulation of sand from the abandoned building. Both Beru and Owen had assisted in the cleaning and had helped source pieces of furniture and equipment that Obi-Wan would need for his prolonged stay on Tatooine.

Owen and Beru had sacrificed much to help him and Luke in those early days. He had seen the dark circles around their eyes from sleepless nights with a fretful child. Luke had a strong affinity with the Force and Obi-Wan knew, could feel, that the child was just as affected by the churning darkness that had enveloped the Force as he was. The babe would scream long into the night, taking little comfort from his guardians’ efforts to ease his distress and Obi-Wan himself would jolt from nightmares with Anakin’s name on his lips and the image of Anakin’s hateful eyes burned into his mind.

Yes, all four of them lost sleep those first few months.

Gradually however, the Force had reluctantly reconciled with its new configuration; it grew darker, dimmer and stirred slowly as the Empire grew and spread across the Galaxy. Republic and Separatist worlds alike were engulfed by Palpatine’s dictatorship and all rebellion was quickly and brutally quashed.

Obi-wan could only impotently watch by the side-lines as the Galaxy shuddered and heaved under the change until it gradually began to settle into some governed order. His dreams had faded and lessened and Anakin’s son stopped screaming and became a more contented child.

Yes, Anakin had brought some semblance of peace to his Empire. But it was a peace that had been bought by the blood of billions. It was a peace maintained by state sanctioned murder and brutality and it was a peace that could only ultimately shatter and would one day cast the Galaxy back into mayhem and turmoil.

The Force was unbalanced. It was dark, so dark and black that Obi-Wan could barely see into its many folds, its shadowed corners. He knew change was coming and he knew… felt… that Luke would be at the centre of it.

The Jedi sat upon his bed, his eyes finding the trunk that held the few belongings he still had from his previous life; a few dusty datapads salvaged from the Jedi temple, a comlink that hadn’t been used since his arrival here; it was dead now, dead and silent like the Jedi Order.

There was also Anakin’s lightsaber.

He hadn’t known why he had lifted it from the hot ash of Mustafar. Didn’t understand his actions to this day. It had been an unconscious act and he had pondered it many times over the years. Anakin had been defeated, had lost limbs, and yet he had instinctively scooped up his opponent’s…

_…his brother’s…_

…lightsaber as though it still posed a danger.

_“I hate you!”_

_“You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!”_

The Jedi rubbed a hand across his brow, covered his eyes and bowed his head in grief, regret and guilt. He had turned away and left Anakin to burn. He had thought him dead, he had thought that…

_…you couldn’t do. You couldn’t kill him, not even then. Not even to grant him mercy... and now you wonder why the Force is so dark and why evil reigns…_

_…you had a chance to stop it. To change it…_

_…only you could have prevented what occurred, only you had the chance to kill Darth Vader… only you could give the Galaxy hope…_

_…but instead of the Sith you only saw the Jedi Anakin had been… the boy within the man…_

The Jedi. The boy.

Obi-Wan glanced up, his eyes back on the box.

The boy.

_…give the Galaxy hope…_

What he had sensed today from Luke had stunned him. Luke’s presence in the Force had been blinding, like a sudden explosion of power, and he had rushed to Anchorhead arriving just in time to watch the group of youths land their small crafts around the building that they used as an unofficial hang out spot. Luke had arrived first and Obi-Wan could feel his elation, his giddy excitement and he had seen how that elation had died as the others had pointedly ignored him and trudged into the cool of the building until only Luke and his friend, Biggs, were left standing in the suns.

The boys had argued, loud enough that Obi-Wan could hear. Luke had won a race in Beggars Canyon, had threaded the Stone Needle; a feat that even Obi-Wan knew had been achieved by very few bush pilots in the area and certainly not one of Luke’s tender age. Taking a risk Obi-Wan had reached out into the Force and initially felt…

_…darkness…_

…Luke’s upset and anger at his friend’s words, but as the boys spoke as the words became less sharp, the anger and upset had waned and Luke’s delight at his achievement had trickled back lightening the Force.

He had turned and left the boys. His mind churning at what he had sensed. The initial burst of power must have come during the race, the anger had rolled in and darkened his mood, but it had lifted just as quickly and yet, Luke seemed completely ignorant of it all, at what he achieved... at the energy he had used and the presence he had projected. His power was innate, like his father’s, instinctive and inborn. Without knowledge, without training, Luke had naturally and unconsciously begun to use his abilities to enhance his performance.

There had been bursts of it throughout his childhood; knowledge of the location of lost items, a dream that warned of a Tusken Raider attack, an intuitive understanding of people… but now Luke was tapping into it for fight or flight – quite literally, too.

Is that what had happened four years ago when Fixer, Luke’s bully, had appeared with a broken arm at the same time that Luke himself had turned up with fresh bruises? If so, then why had he not felt Luke’s presence and power then?

Obi-Wan sighed, the sound breaking the silence of his home.

_…give the Galaxy hope…_

He had waited too long, he had allowed his fear of discovery to hold him back, had allowed Owen Lars’ demands that Luke had a childhood to hold him back and now Luke was reaching out on his own, intuitively using the Force.

_…give the Galaxy Hope…_

Luke was that hope and it was time to awaken him.

ooOOoo

The Pupil

Neither of the two men knew he was there. No one had seen him climb the stairs and hide inside the farmstead dome while Owen Lars and Ben Kenobi…

…his Master had called him “Obi-Wan…”

…spoke outside as the wind gusted around them. Even from his vantage point it had been difficult to hear and he had been tempted to reach for the Force to assist him enhance their words, but with the Jedi being so close it was a risk he dare not take. So he stood to the side of the doorway, out of the sunlight that brushed the steps, and eavesdropped as they argued.

“We had… agreement!” Owen, was becoming angry, his body tense and his face reddened.

“Owen... what I felt… Luke is… and needs to be… own good. We… it… and he’s… too late.”

Luke grimaced, shook his head, annoyed at the words being lost to the sweeping Tatooine wind. It wasn’t strong enough for a sand storm, but it was strong enough to steal words before they reached him.

“No!”

Luke grinned, his uncle’s ire was growing.

“Owen,” Ben was trying to reason with the farmer, his voice was calm, rational, “Luke is grown now, far…” the wind gusted, sand shifted. “…yond… age… that Jedi… and… father would want…”

“To hell with what Anakin would want!” Owen burst, too loud for the winds to snatch his words. “Luke will not be trained…”

Luke ginned at that _. Too late, Uncle…_

“… so take that damned lightsaber and get off my property!”

_Lightsaber!_

Kenobi carried a lightsaber? Intrigued, Luke risked peeking out around the door and caught the Jedi securing something under his robes.

His master had not permitted him to have his own lightsaber. He had only been permitted to train with a practise sword and, although he had begged his master to duel him, Sidious had refused. So Luke had been left to exercise his sword forms and prove his prowess with only the various remotes that his master tossed into the air and the sound of his master’s voice to guide him.

He hadn’t even see a real lightsaber yet.

“Owen, I…”

“Don’t come back!” Lars snarled, “Don’t come back, or so help me…”

“Luke?”

Luke jumped, spun around and found his aunt behind him. He had been so intent on listening to Kenobi and his uncle that he had not sensed his aunt’s approach.

Beru looked at him quizzically, then glanced to the doorway, “what are you doing?”

“I.. uh…” he stumbled, feeling like a bumbling farm-boy for the first time in years. He could feel the heat growing in his cheeks under the commanding gaze of his aunt. “I…”

“Were you eavesdropping, Luke?”

Luke lowered his head at his aunt’s accusation, looking sorry and embarrassed at getting caught; playing his role as his master had commanded. “Yes, ma’am,” he confessed in a whisper; his aunt always taught that honesty was the best policy. His Master taught that honesty could be a useful tool, if deceit was hidden among it. “Trying, too.”

A fleeting look of panic flashed in Beru’s eyes as she tore her eyes from Luke and glanced outside. “What were they talking about?” There was a tone to Beru’s voice; suppressed fear and consternation.

Luke shrugged, nonchalantly, half grinned and glanced at his aunt with wide eyes. “I.. uh… I don’t know. I couldn’t hear, really. I think I heard them mention my father, though. Did Ben… I mean… Did Mr Kenobi know my father?” He put hope into his words, an innocent expectation into his voice; like he always did when his father was mentioned.

“No,” Beru said, too quickly and Luke knew she was lying. He knew from his master that the story he had been fed by them all his life about his father being a navigator on a spice freighter was a lie, but he continued to allow them to spin their ruse. His master had ordered him not to arouse suspicion. “Your father was gone by the time Ben arrived on Tatooine,” and yet, he could feel some truth there, too.

“Oh,” Luke looked crestfallen, his hope dashed again. Even his master was elusive about his father, even he would merely drop little hints and snippets of information…

_“…you remind me of your father, but some day your power may surpass even his…”_

_“Patience, young one, use your anger, but do not let it control you like it did your father…”_

_“…he became a great Sith.”_

…but would say no more when questioned, would become angry and vicious if pushed.

_“Do not think to question me, boy!”_

Luke winced at the memory of his last lessons, absently rubbed the shoulder that had dislocated when he had hit against his master’s stone chair after asking to know more about Anakin Skywalker. Afterwards, once Sidious had sated his anger, once Luke could scream no more and had dragged himself to his knees, his master had handed him a training sword and loosed three remotes to attack. In dreadful pain and with his arm hanging uselessly by his side Luke defended himself as his master taught.

_“A Sith is never weak. They use the pain, the torture, to focus their strength. I can feel your anger. You hate me, you fear me and that gives you power. I am the root of you, the foundation of you… I am your strength. Without me you are nothing…”_

“Luke?”

The soft tones of his aunt brought him back and he found Beru looking at him with concern. “Hmm?”

“Where were you just now?”

“I… uh…”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“I…,” he started, then he shrugged and confessed, “No.”

His aunt sighed, wearily shook her head. “I swear young man that you will be death of me. You need to get your head out of the clouds.”

Luke cast his eyes down. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now go and finish your chores,” her eyes moved past him to the doorway, watching what was happening beyond, but all Luke could hear was the growing wind; there would be a sandstorm tonight. “Supper will be on the table soon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he echoed, his voice thick with his huff. Playing the dutiful nephew and truculent teenager he eased past his aunt.

As he descended the steps he could feel her watching his back, could feel her troubled emotions; her fear for him and he knew that she would run to Owen and tell him what had happened. There was no doubt that both his aunt and uncle knew more about his father than they had ever said, there was no doubt that the Jedi knew, too. He closed his fists as he crossed the atrium of the farmstead, fingernails digging into his palms as he fought to control his anger. They had lied to him and continued to lie to him.

His father had never been a navigator. His father had been Sith… and one day he would confront them all with the truth.

ooOOoo

The Jedi

He had failed again.

Back in his home and sitting on his bed, Obi-Wan turned the lightsaber hilt in his hands; feeling the cold of the metal, the ridges of the hand grip, and ran his fingers along the various pits and grooves that the lightsaber had gained through its years of use through the Clone Wars.

_“I hate you!”_

His thoughts always turned to that moment. Not once in these seventeen years had he remembered Anakin without that moment surfacing to haunt him.

_“I hate you!”_

The scream of hatred, the tortured cries as Anakin burned and the crunch of black ash and hot stones beneath his feet as he walked away from his friend.

_“I hate you!”_

He had failed Anakin and now he was failing Luke.

Or was he?

Perhaps the farmer was right. Perhaps it would be best not train Luke, to preserve their agreement to keep Luke ignorant of his background, of his family, until he was older; until he was mature enough to rationalise the events of the past.

Obi-Wan shook his head in frustration. Luke’s innate abilities were growing. His power burgeoning; flourishing now that he had discovered his wings. His presence within the Force was becoming distinct and strong and… and yet, there was something hidden. Something that the Force was not letting him see…

He rubbed at his chin, fingers pulling on the hair of his beard. Ever since the beginning of the Clone Wars the Dark Side had clouded the Force; it’s strength shadowing and veiling much from the view of the Jedi Order. The very Sith Lord they had been seeking had been standing before them the entire time and had manipulated them all.

The Force was still dark, still concealing.

He rose, crossed the room and pulled open the trunk that held the pieces of his past and returned Anakin’s sword. He shut the lid and paused with a hand placed upon the ancient wood. His head bowed as in prayer; his eyes closed in grief and helplessness. Faced with Owen Lars threats and not desiring to create conflict for Luke he had little choice but to honour Luke’s guardian’s wishes… at least for now.

He had never been blessed, or cursed, with precognition; but he knew without doubt that change was coming and that Luke would somehow be at the centre of it.

If Luke could not be trained, then Obi-Wan would need to be ready, he would need to be prepared to move at short notice; for the boy could not walk the path of the Force alone.

ooOOoo

To be continued….


	7. A Storm Still to Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Sidious and Darth Vader arrive on Tatooine and Luke is drawn out by his master's calling...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for a shorter chapter this time around. The next one is a little more lengthy.
> 
> All previous disclaimers apply...

** Insidious  **

** Part Seven **

The Teacher

The shuttle shuddered as it entered the Tatooine atmosphere and the deck plates vibrated beneath their feet. They had been warned to expect turbulence, had been warned that this area of the planet was currently experiencing high winds and sandstorms, but that mattered not a whit to the Dark Lord of the Sith. No wind was more powerful than the Dark Side of the Force and today would be a day his apprentice and his young pupil would each long remember.

Palpatine raised his eyes and looked across the passenger compartment to Lord Vader. The Sith was sitting as stoic as ever; head held high, back straight, gloved hands settled on armoured knees, but he could feel Vader’s surging emotions behind the black façade. He could feel his apprentice’s hatred and searing fury.

Vader had not been so alive, so passionate, since the end of the Clone Wars. It would seem that learning of his son, of his offspring’s unlikely survival, had enflamed him and stoked the fires of his hatred of the Jedi, especially when he had learned that Obi-Wan Kenobi was also on Tatooine… Palpatine swallowed his gleeful chuckle, recalling the creak of leather as Vader had tightened his fists, the cracks and splinters of the furniture in his state room on the Star Destroyer as each piece imploded with Vader’s anger. It had been too long since he had felt such pure darkness, such unadulterated malevolence from his apprentice.

Perhaps he should have told him earlier of the boy’s existence.

He had missed his young friend these last few years as Vader, adrift in grief and self-pity, lost his fervour and intensity over the years and became the dull, obedient, servant who carried out Palpatine’s every order.

Yes, perhaps he should have told him sooner… but the whispers of the Force had guided him to hold his peace and say nothing, until now.

And still he had made Vader wait. Drawing out the journey to Tatooine, enjoying the build of tension within his apprentice until he felt that the very Force itself was about to snap. It was time now… Time to introduce father to son and son to father.

He knew Vader would not fail him. He knew that Vader would obey without question, but of the boy he was uncertain and deliberately so; his ever expanding absences from Tatooine were calculated and planned; tests of the boy’s pledge, of his loyalty and devotion.

If he were to fail tonight… He would die.

The shuttle landed, a little harder than normal given the weather beyond, and the hatch cracked open and the ramp began to descend. Outside the winds gusted, picking up sand and blowing it in to litter the deck with golden grains. Without a word Palpatine stood and lifted his cowl, he turned for the hatchway sensing the troopers with them also standing, feeling Vader obey his master’s unspoken command to follow.

A storm outside and a storm within… and a storm still to ignite.

ooOOoo

 

The Pupil

Luke’s eyes sprang open.

Something was…. Something was coming.

Pushing his bed covers aside the teenager sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bunk.

Something… something was happening… was about to happen.

It was dark. It was the middle of the night. It was the time when the flats and the dune seas were too treacherous travel and yet…

There was an urgency, a sense that he had to move that he had to be elsewhere….

He stood, took a step, glanced around the gloom of his room. He had to go. He had to move, he was…

…being called.

He stopped. Stilled. He could feel the warm thickness of the home spun rug beneath his bare feet but barely registered it. His stomach spun with anxiety, adrenalin rushed with the certainty that his master was coming; was summoning him. He didn’t move, suddenly restrained by doubt, frozen with indecision.

After so long, after months of silence, why now? Why was his master here now?

His fist curled, tightened, and his nails dug into his palms. Something was different. The Force was heaving with expectation, the Dark Side twisting and rotating like a vortex and he felt like a womp rat caught in a sand whirlpool, claws desperately scrabbling at loose grains as it was inevitably dragged down to slowly suffocate; lost to the suns, lost to the light.

Luke let out a breath, heaved in another.

He had to go. No matter the time. No matter the dangers of a Tatooine night. He had to go.

And as he dressed, as he quietly pushed his speeder out into the night so as not to wake his guardians, Luke knew that when the suns arose the following day that he would either be here to see them, or he would not.

ooOOoo

To Be Continued....


	8. The Gaderffii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke fights for his life....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply...

The Jedi

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what woke him. He didn’t know if it was the growing wind outside or the anxiety gnawing at his gut, but he was awake, lying on his back and staring through the dark of the night at the bland ceiling of his abode. The wind rattled off the shutters on his window and he could hear the grains of sand rain against the pitted surface of the reclaimed hull plating.

Something was wrong. He could feel it, sense it, even without reaching into the Force. Something was very wrong. There was a change coming… a reckoning… a…

He sighed, sat up, and activated the lights from the panel above his bed. There would be no more sleep for him this night, not when the Force was in such flux, not with the Dark Side pressing in so thick and cloying and gorged with ill-intent. It had not felt this malignant since the day the Jedi were slaughtered in their hundreds, not since his own troopers…

_…friends, colleagues…_

…had turned against him on Utapau on the orders of their master.

So deep, so dark, that he could barely feel the light; it was suffocating, bludgeoning his senses with rage and hatred and obsession.

He threw his blankets aside and placed his feet on the floor, wincing at the protests from his muscles. He was getting old… barely fifty-five and he was already an old man; thinning grey hair, sun damaged skin and aching bones.

Anakin would have laughed at him, Anakin would have called him a…

Anakin!

A sudden realisation, a sudden horror, slithered through him. The Force… It felt like Anakin! No, not Anakin, like…

_Vader!_

Luke!

Luke was in danger!

Galvanised, Obi-Wan quickly dressed; drawing on his robes, fastening his belt and fixing his lightsaber to the belt-loop. He wrapped a cloth across his mouth and nose, drew goggles over his eyes and threw up his hood. He unbolted his door, opened it and stepped out into the growing dust storm. He was immediately blinded by the dark of night, by the twisting, swirling sand that pelted his face and unprotected hands.

He paused for moment and closed his eyes as he immersed himself into the Force, wincing at the evil that he felt, the foulness that polluted the living energy. He gagged on it, forcing back the bile that threatened at the back of throat. He ploughed on, centring himself, getting his bearings and started the long journey toward the Lars homestead in the hope that he would reach the farmstead before the spreading malice.

ooOOoo

The Teacher

Palpatine opened his eyes to the dim light of the abandoned building. “Can you feel him, my friend? Can you sense your son approach?”

A regulated breath cycled before Vader answered. “Yes, my master,” he intoned, betraying none of his feelings. His voice was monotone, passive, but… oh… the heat scorched within. “He is strong, powerful.”

Was that pride in Vader’s voice? Pride for a boy he did not know.

Palpatine could not help himself, he ginned; thin lips pulling back against decaying teeth. “Give me your lightsaber,” he commanded, immediately feeling Vader’s surprise, feeling him turn to look upon him, but there was no protest. Vader unclipped the sword hilt from his belt and handed it to his master. Palpatine took it, held it tight and gestured to the doorway where a Tusken Raider’s gaderffii sat propped against the wall.

Sidious could feel the instant revulsion and hatred that rose within his apprentice, could sense, almost see, the fleeting memory of Anakin Skywalker’s mother dying in his arms, but still Vader obeyed and lifted the melee weapon, turning it in his hands to feel the weight and balance of it. On one end it had five sharpened flanges with a central spike – a common Tusken design – and the other was curved, thickened like a club, with a smaller spike embedded into the wood.

The Emperor’s eyes flashed with delight as he watched the younger Sith move with the weapon and he repeated the words he had commanded Vader seventeen years before. “Do what must be done, Lord Vader. Do not hesitate. Show no mercy.”

There was a flutter of uncertainty within the Force, a tiny voice of protest, but his apprentice clamped down on it, silenced it and the Force hummed in anticipation. If the boy was worthy, he would rise to the challenge and live. If not… then he would die by his father’s hand.

ooOOoo

The Pupil

There were shapes shifting in the wind and sand and Luke cautiously slowed his landspeeder, watching the figures move, feeling them notice him, take an interest in him, observe him as he drove through them. He could feel them within the Force, could feel the efforts they made to remain upright in the storm, he could feel their curiosity about him, could feel their loyalty to the one who brought them here…

…his master…

Luke squinted through his goggles, drew the Force to him to sharpen his focus as he slowly drove closer to his Master’s location. The figures… they looked like…

Imperial Stormtroopers!

Luke pulled the speeder to a halt, allowed the engine to whine and die while he sat still in the cockpit.

The soldiers kept their distance. There were five… no... six… of them, and they carried their guns casually, resting them on their arms but ready move at any sign of hostility or aggression. He didn’t understand this, couldn’t fathom why Imperial troops were patrolling the area, and…

…still the call of his master came from the nearby building. Sidious’s summons was stronger now, more insistent; impatient. If he did not obey then he would suffer the consequences.

He brought his attention away from the troopers and dragged himself out of the speeder. The uncovered portions of skin on his face were stinging, bleeding and abraded by the hard hitting grains and it wasn’t the first time that he bemoaned the decision to buy a speeder without a canopy. However, these pains would be inconsequential to those his master could inflect should he delay any longer.

Luke took in a breath through his make-shift mask and walked through the growing winds; his tunic flapped, his hair was caught and blown back from his face. The Force howled, the Force hummed with anticipation.

He paused at the doorway, the soft light coming within…. the stillness of the place… belying the sheer darkness he felt in the Force.

His Master was waiting.

Pulling off his goggles and scarf, Luke stepped inside.

His senses screamed at him.

He ducked down, hand pushing against the sand stone of the doorway as he propelled himself down and sideways, twisting his body to avoid the vicious stroke of the gaderffii. He rolled on the sandy floor, scrabbled to find his feet as the staff and bladed edge arced toward him once more. It missed, cut a groove in the sandstone, as he jumped back placing space between himself and his assailant. He stood up and turned around to face his attacker.

The figure was tall; easily two meters. He was dressed entirely in black from his boots to the angular skull-like mask and helmet. He was armoured and… his breathing… it sounded regulated, it sounded…

“You are unworthy, boy,” a gloved hand was raised, a finger pointed.

The voice sliced through him; deep and dark in its tones and intent, and Luke realised the figure had also been using the few seconds to appraise him. He lifted his chin at the accusation. “Unworthy for what?”

Where was his master? Where was Sidious?

“To serve…” the figure growled, the tip of the gaffi stick rising in challenge.

Sudden understanding lanced through Luke and he realised this was another Sith. This was a Dark Lord like his master. This was a test! He licked his lips, glanced to either side of him, looking for Sidious, looking for another weapon, looking for a way to defend himself. There was nothing… just the chair that his master sat within while teaching him. “I’m unarmed,” he said unnecessarily, for surely his attacker had already realised that. “It’s not a fair fight.”

The helmet cocked to the side and Luke was sure he could feel humour from the monster before him and he realised, with a grimace of chagrin, just how much he had sounded like the seventeen year old he was.

“The Dark Side is never fair,” the figure rasped, bringing up the weapon again. “One who truly commands the Force is never unarmed. You will fight, or you will die….” and he lunged forward, swinging the heavy end of the gaffi stick.

Luke ducked, rolled to the side, hearing the gaffi thump hard upon the sandy floor, knowing that if it had struck him he would have been incapacitated, or dead. He scrabbled forward, found his feet, turned on his heel to face his attacker and was met by a gloved fist to his face.

He staggered back, a short cry escaping him. This was a familiar setting. This was familiar pain. The taste and tang of blood on his tongue an old reminder of his past hurts. He was the little boy being picked on and bullied by a bigger and stronger opponent. There was no time to think as the Sith closed in, swinging the Gaderffii once more. There was only time to react with the abrupt flame of anger and driving fear.

With a shout, with a loud yell, he threw up his arms and pushed.

There was a strangled sound through the man’s vocoder and a dull, heavy, crash as the figure was shoved to the other end of the training room to land hard on his back. Reacting, not thinking, Luke dashed after him, following through his defensive act with an attack. If he could get to the Tusken weapon, if he could wrestle it from the Sith’s grasp, he could…

Too late Luke learned that the bulk of his opponent disguised his agility and power. The Sith was off the ground meeting Luke’s attack with his own; the air sang as the gaderffii swung his way, the sharp flanges winking in the light. Luke instinctively threw up his arm, yelling in pain as a razor edge sliced through the flesh of his forearm. He fell back, but his tunic was suddenly caught, grasped by the Sith, and he was lifted into the air and thrown across the room.

He thudded into the wall, knocked his head, dropped to the floor. His vision blurred, pain lanced through his skull as he fought to remain awake and keep focus. He moved, lay on his side panting for breath as the room slowly circled around him.

Black boots stepped into his eye line.

“Pathetic,” the Dark Lord hissed, disappointment underscoring his words, “you are already beaten.”

Luke felt his opponent move, sensed him raising his arms and the weapon to deliver the killing stroke. Fury flared at the taunt…

_… wimpy Skywalker…_

_… go eat worms, Wormie…_

_“… echuta gaggalak…”_

_“Wormie… Wormie….”_

…and Luke closed his fists, not caring about the blood than wept from the deep slice in his arm, and he tensed his body knowing he would have but a few seconds to react. The gaffi stick swiftly descended.

Luke twisted his body, calling upon the Force to give him speed and strength. His scissored his legs, wrapped them around the Dark Lord’s ankles and pulled his knees into his body. The Sith stumbled forward, the gaffi taking a chunk out of the wall, and Luke disentangled himself and scrambled to his feet putting a little distance between himself and his assailant just as the man moved with another sweeping arc of the Tusken weapon that narrowly missed his stomach.

Another sweep, the weapon singing through the air and again Luke dodged and again and again….

He was being backed toward a wall, backed into a corner, herded into a position where he would be easier to control and kill.

Luke could feel his attacker’s frustration, he could feel the man’s growing ire through the Force and he could feel…

_… admiration… pride… and a dull sorrow…_

… a growing build up in the Force as the Sith Lord looped the weapon with one hand and thrust out the other toward him and Luke threw up his own hands to meet the force push with one of his own just as the gaffi descended again.

Luke released the Force unused. He staggered and turned away to avoid the blow only to feel the gaffi rake his back. Crying out he stumbled forward, his hands reaching out to stabilise himself and he found the roughly hewn rock of his master’s seat. There was no time, he ducked and jinked away, the bladed flanges slicing the air, slicing a few strands of his hair, and cleaving into the sandstone of the chair.

Luke stumbled around it, putting the seat between the Sith Lord and himself, giving them both some respite.

“You are quick,” the Dark Lord observed with some appreciation, “nimble. But you are injured and no match for a fully trained Sith. Yield to me and I will end your life quickly, painlessly.”

Luke brought up his chin, glaring at the man who towered above him. His arm was throbbing, his face aching and he could feel warm blood trickling down his back. “Never,” he rasped. He would not yield as he had in the past to Fixer, he would not relinquish a fight; if he was to die then he would die on his feet just as his master had taught.

There was a beat of time, a pause, then the black mask and helmet nodded; just once. “So be it.”

The Sith stepped around the chair, Luke did likewise in the opposite direction, keeping his distance, keeping the stone furniture between them and he had a fleeting thought that they could keep this up for hours like children playing a game of tag. It seemed like the Dark Lord had the same idea for he lunged across the chair, bringing the gaffi stick swiping across the air between them. Luke Jumped back, easily avoiding the swing and as it past, and with his opponent still committed to the movement, Luke vaulted up and onto the armrest of the chair, using it and the Force to boost his leap up and over the Dark Lord. He landed in a crouch, twisted around with a swinging kick to the Sith Lord’s back.

The man stumbled forward, fell over the chair and came back around with a furious growl but Luke had moved out of reach and toward the still open door, beyond which the dust storm raged.

“You would run, rather than fight?” The Sith accused, his anger vibrating in the Force.

Luke didn’t answer, didn’t respond to the accusation of cowardice for that was not why he had moved for the door and he was unsurprised to find his way block by two of the Imperial Stormtroopers who had watched him enter. Their blasters were raised and Luke could feel their relief to be sheltered from the storm, even if only for a short while.

“There is nowhere to go, boy, nowhere to run,” the Dark Lord pursued him, hefting the gaderffii into his hands, intent on ending the one-sided fight.

Luke was determined to even it.

He lifted his hands in capitulation and turned around to face the approaching Sith. He could feel the man’s satisfaction…

_…disappointment, regret…_

…as one of the soldier’s prodded him in the back with his blaster forcing Luke to take a step forward and he hissed and grimaced with pain as the wound on this back protested the push.

Luke swallowed, watching carefully as his opponent neared, the gaffi stick balanced in his gloved hands. His heart hammered and he glanced to the floor, dropping his head as though preparing himself for the final blow.

“I offered you mercy, child,” the Dark Lord taunted, “That time is past. You will not have an easy death.”

Keeping his head down, keeping his true feelings hidden and supressed as his master taught, Luke whispered, “Neither will you.”

It was fast, faster than he had ever had to act before; ducking down and with the Force he yanked one of the soldiers forward and over him to crash into the Sith Lord. The duo clattered back, falling to the floor in a twist of arms and legs and armour; the gaffi stick discarded. In that same instance Luke grabbed the blaster of the remaining soldier pulling it to him as he pushed the man back and out of the building and into the raging storm. With a flick of his wrist Luke forced the door shut with a resounding bang and he stalked forward with blaster in bloodied hand.

ooOOoo

The Jedi

Obi-Wan crouched down, pressing himself into the nook in the wall of the canyon as the dust storm raged. He could go no further; the winds were too strong and they had beaten down his Force shields and driven him to seek refuge from the worst of it.

In his seventeen years on Tatooine he had never experienced a storm so bad, so vicious and intense and he suspected…

_…he knew…_

…that the Dark Side was the cause of it and that Luke was in terrible danger.

_Anakin don’t…_

Helpless, bereft and alone, Obi-Wan could only cower from the storm.

ooOOoo

The Father

His son was strong!

His son was clever, talented, quick of mind and fleet of foot and he could not supress the pride that arose within. Even wounded and in fear of his life, the boy had prevailed and fought on, overcoming the anguish of his injuries, using the pain to strengthen his resolve, using the hatred and fear of his attacker to intensify his connection to the Dark Side and Vader had to remind himself that Palpatine had been training Luke from a young age.

He pushed the Stormtrooper from him, used the man’s still living body to shield himself from the rapid burst of blaster fire that Luke loosed upon him. With the Force he launched the corpse toward his son, and drew himself to his feet, using the few milliseconds that Luke was distracted to reach out for the gaderffii that lay on the floor where he had dropped it. The weapon flew into his hands.

Another shot and Vader deflected it with his hand, clearly surprising his son with the act. He saw the blue eyes widen, then narrow with grim determination and another rapid series of fire was directed toward him.

Again he repelled the shots, ricocheting them into the walls of the building and making Luke duck to avoid his own shots. He walked forward, swinging the gaffi stick. “I am not so easily killed,” he informed his son, jerking his hand up, causing Luke to do likewise and the next shot was into the ceiling, sending a shower of blasted sandstone falling to the floor between them. He rushed the boy before he could recover, catching his arm and wrenching it down, twisting the wrist, cracking the bone and Luke howled in pain; dropping the blaster.

Vader jerked the boy around bringing his arm behind his back and his body close to his. He swung the gaffi stick around pressing the staff tight to his son’s throat. Luke choked against the pressure, his free hand grasping in vain at the weapon that was constricting his air way. He struggled, kicked, gasped and gurgled, all bravado lost as he truly fought for his life.

The Dark Lord held his son close as the Force raged around them much like the storm outside, swirling patterns of energy stretched out as Luke reached for anything… anyone… to save him. The boy’s mind screamed, futilely called out…

_Master! Help me!_

It was a call that would go unheeded and unanswered.

The pressure within the Force intensified, a build of power as Luke’s struggles weakened, and Vader released Luke’s arm only to grasp at the gaderffii with both hands to increase the pressure and hasten his son’s death.

_Do what must be done…_

ooOOoo

The Pupil

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get away, couldn’t loosen the Dark Lord’s grip. In desperation he clawed at the staff that pulled against his throat, tried to tear it away from his neck. He kicked against the Sith’s armour, but he was lifted off his feet as the Dark Lord heaved him up and held him tighter to his body while strangling him with the gaffi stick.

_Master! Help me!_

But there was nothing. No reply or acknowledgement.

The dark side deepened and darkened much like his vision. He was in agony, he was dying and…

… he reached out, frantically looking for anything to latch onto, anything that would loosen the Sith’s grip on him, anything that could free him from the death that was fast approaching. Anything that would….

… _there… there… do it… do it… do it now!_

He closed his eyes, relaxed his struggling body even as it screamed for oxygen and release, and grasped at the only thing his frenzied senses found.

His master’s chair exploded in rush of energy and sound; clumps of rock and shards of stone blew out in every direction and both he and his assailant were pummelled by the blast and by the debris. The Sith cried out, the sound torn and distorted by the black mask’s vocoder, and Luke was dropped to land among the rubble on his back.

He heaved in a breath, tasted blood and sand, and he coughed, the air barking painfully through his damaged throat. He drew in another, his chest hauling in air while his mind screamed at him to move, to get up, to get out before the Sith could recover.

His good hand searched beside him and his fingers curled around a large chunk of sandstone. He dragged himself up, staggered, almost fell but the sight of his adversary pulling up from the floor spurned him on, caused adrenalin to spike, and sudden hatred surged through him. A Force push sent the man coasting back to smack into the wall where the shadows were the deepest and Luke limped after him, blood running down his arm to coat the stone he carried with bright crimson.

Again the man moved, again he tried to rise and again a cry of rage from Luke sent him back down and he leapt at him, kicked him onto his back, straddled him. He brought the rock down hard upon that black mask and helmet, bludgeoning his enemy again and again. Smashing the rock against the mask of the man who had tried to kill him, crying out in blind rage with each vicious strike.

The dark side sang, resonating with his mindless fury as he took his revenge upon the Sith who had deemed him unworthy and who had hurt him so much, and…

… a sudden agony punched into his back, pitching him forward with a rough cry and he fell across the Sith Lord. The man beneath him moved, pushed him off, and he landed face down in the sand and debris gasping and heaving for breath with the gaderffii embedded deep in his flesh.

On the fringes of his vision the shadows gathered and coalesced into a figure that slowly picked its way passed the Sith Lord who was rising from the rubble with a dented and dusty mask. Luke blinked, scratching his eyes with sand and grit, tears streamed down his face and gathered with the blood that was spattered on the floor. The figure crouched beside him and gently swept aside the hair that fallen over his face.

“Oh, my child,” his master soothed, “you fought well, you fought bravely…” he paused as Luke’s body jerked and the boy cried out his agony, speaking again only when his apprentice had settled to gasp in short breaths, “… but you forgot to be mindful of the room, in your rage you forgot to control your anger. You forgot that you opponent was also strong in the Force, you forgot about the weapon that lay discarded at your back.”

A second shadow fell over him and he knew that his victor was standing behind his master and looking down on him.

“Lord Vader did not forget and that is why you have been beaten.”

Luke shivered, gasped as a sharp, exquisite, agony burned through his back from where the gaffi stick was rooted. The pain spread out across his shoulders, into his veins and sweat pinpricked his skin as he grunted out, “venom.”

Sidious grinned, thin lips pulled back from rotten teeth. “I’m afraid so,” he confirmed with faux sympathy, “like many Tuskens the late-owner of this weapon dipped the spike in sand-bat venom.”

Luke’s muscles cramped and he groaned. “I… I’m… sor… sorry… I f..f…failed you.”

His master chuckled. “You have not failed me, my boy. Not yet… if you survive this night. If you live… if you overcome death, then you may serve me…” he briefly glanced up at the man towering over him, “…just as your father serves me.”

_Father…_

ooOOoo

To be Continued….


	9. Acknowledgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is over... let the healing begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers apply...

Insidious 

Part Nine

The Jedi

Obi-Wan gripped the edge of the passenger seat with both hands, his stomach looping and churning, as Biggs Darklighter piloted the small Skyhopper up and over and down a large sand dune. He never had liked flying, despite doing so much of it in the past, and Biggs’ daredevil piloting unfortunately reminded him of his old apprentice.

Obi-Wan’s lips pressed together, showing his tension; the thought of Anakin heightening his anxiety and he instinctively reached for the Force to calm himself. He winced and pulled back; the Force felt convoluted, so deep and dark, its patterns shifting and changing; heaving with power and potential, teasing him with the possible outcomes for this journey.

_…Luke is all right…_

_…Luke took refuge from the storm…_

_…Luke is already on his way home…_

_…Luke is alive…_

_…Luke is gone…_

_…Luke is injured…_

_…Luke is dead…_

_…Luke is fallen…_

_…Anakin found Luke…_

Anakin!

Had he truly sensed Anakin…

_…No, Vader. His name is Vader…_

… last night? Had the fire that had burned do darkly within the Force been his old apprentice? It had been so long since he had been in Anakin’s presence, so long since he had sensed what Anakin felt like. After almost two decades, did he really know what Vader’s presence would feel like now? Could it possibly have been Luke’s own fear and horror at being caught in the worst storm to ever hit this region that had echoed with his father’s Force presence…

_…and what the devil was the boy doing sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night?_

Owen and Beru were frantic at finding Luke’s bed empty in the morning and his speeder gone. They had no idea when he had left; if it had only been a few hours before, or if it had been just a few minutes prior to them rising? However, Obi-Wan’s arrival and his dust covered and haggard appearance had frightened them both and Owen had immediately alerted the local militia and thus the search for Luke had begun.

Soon after they had learned from local farmers that Sandpeople had been spotted taking shelter just three kilometres from the Lars’ farmstead and the couple’s terror for their nephew had gone into lightspeed. Which was to be expected when one remembered what had happened to Anakin’s mother and…

_…Anakin again…_

His thoughts were always drawn back, dragged back, to Anakin and his failure to guide the boy, to advise the youth, to see the dark manipulation that took the man.

“Are you okay, Mr Kenobi?”

Biggs’ question and concerned glance were a welcome distraction from his thoughts. “Yes, yes,” he assured the boy. “I am quite well, thank you. Just concerned for your young friend.”

Another drop down a large dune and again Kenobi’s stomach dived. He swallowed.

“You look a little green, sir,” Biggs observed his voice carrying a smile despite his worry for Luke.

“It has been sometime since I have flown,” Obi-Wan confessed, his finger’s still gripping the seat, “I’m afraid my stomach has never liked the sensation.”

“I’d take us higher, but the ‘hopper’s sensors work better at low altitude.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, I understand, my boy. I shall be quite all right and if…” The back of his neck suddenly prickled, the Force spiked and he found himself speaking before the words had fully formed in his mind. “Take us to port, toward the flats.”

Biggs frowned, glanced at his sensors. “That’s out of the search grid and…”

“Please, indulge me,” Obi-Wan requested, knowing… just knowing… that what they needed to find was in that direction and… not far…

Was it Luke? Was he alive? That was something that Obi-Wan could not tell; so much was hidden, so much was unknown and clouded by the Dark Side. He only knew that his answers lay in the direction that Biggs now turned.

The Darklighter boy opened the throttle wider and the ‘hopper picked up speed, as though even he had felt the urging of the Force. It was possible of course, every living being had some connection with the Force in one way or another even if they were not aware of it.

The dunes gave way to the flats; a vast, empty area that was filled only by dried out corpses and a few dotted, crumbling dwellings that spoke of failed attempts to settle the place.

“There,” Obi-Wan pointed ahead to where the horizon shimmered with heat, and where he knew the flats suddenly ended in towering bluffs, “just before the cliffs.”

The young man beside him peered into the haze. “I don’t see anyth…. Oh, wait, I see it! You have good eyesight, sir.”

“Take us down, Biggs,” Obi-Wan instructed tightly. He could feel it; the taint of the dark side. Something had happened here. “That structure there and…”

“That’s Luke’s speeder!” Biggs suddenly burst, spotting Skywalker’s vehicle dusted with sand parked alone outside the structure. Biggs’ voice was tight, betraying his fear and concern for his friend. The skyhopper lurched, dropped suddenly, as Biggs brought it low, landing it a little harder than normal in his rush to get down and get to his friend.

“Call it in, Biggs,” Obi-Wan instructed as he popped the canopy and grabbed the small med-kit that Biggs carried in the vehicle. “Tell them where we are and that we’ll bring Luke home.”

He could feel Biggs’ confusion, could feel the younger man questioning how Obi-Wan seemed to know that Luke truly was within that building. “Yes, sir.”

The Jedi turned to briefly appraise the structure. It was run down, much like his own, it’s exterior pitted and crumbling in some areas but still sound. The door was lying open, it’s closing mechanism long damaged and defunct and sand from the storm had blown into the opening and across the sunlit floor. If it had not been for Luke’s speeder parked outside then no-one would have been able to tell if anyone was here as the dust storm had erased all traces of movement from the sand.

Luke was in there. He could feel it. A tiny, dimming, pulse within the Force…

Obi-Wan took in a breath, afraid of what he would find…

_…have I failed you, Padme?_

… and quickly walked to the open door. The light did not reach far into the single, large room, but it reached far enough.

Luke lay prone on the sand covered, blood stained, floor; a long gaderffi stick protruding from his back.

_…Tuskens?_

Obi-Wan rushed to the boy’s side. “Luke?!”

He hesitated, paused, reminding himself of his battlefield medical training. Quickly he checked the area visually and with the Force for any lingering dangers.

Luke was alone, that much was certain. There were scuffs and drag marks in the sand all over the room, fresh cuts and notches in the walls of the room, blackened gouges in walls and ceilings…

… _blaster fire?_

….a mound of ragged sandstone rocks from which debris spread out over the floor. Had the boy sought refuge from the storm, only to be surprised by a Tusken Raider also sheltering here? That there were signs of a struggle, a vicious fight, was obvious and there was definitely a trace of the dark side here, but was that down to the work of the Force, or merely a result of the events in this place; had Luke, in his fear and terror at being attacked by Sandpeople, instinctively called upon the dark side of the Force to save himself?

Again it crossed his mind that it was Luke himself who had felt like Anakin. Luke who had been like an echo of his father as he had fought for his life.

Was Luke’s potential so great that even untrained, even ignorant of the Force, he could instinctively summon it to protect himself? Had Luke stepped onto the path of the Dark Side before his journey into the Force could truly begin?

And had he already failed Luke as he had failed his father?

He crouched down by the gravely injured and deeply unconscious boy, taking precious time to assess the damage. The gaffi stick was deeply entrenched in Luke’s back; the flanges hidden in the swelling flesh. Blood still welled up from the wound to dribble in rivulets through the saturated cloth of Luke’s tunic. It dripped to the floor adding to the pool of wet, crimson sand. Luke’s wrist looked twisted and broken and a neat row of bloodied cuts were sliced though one sleeve and across his back. There were contusions on the side of the boy’s face, blood in his hair and his lips were tinged blue; a sure sign of oxygen deprivation, or sand bat venom, or both. Obi-Wan checked Luke’s hands, noting the stiff curl of his fingers; venom.

With every slow beat of Luke’s heart Obi-Wan could feel the life ebb from the boy.

He sighed, sadly, rubbing at his chin, feeling the bristle of beard again his palm.

_The fire and rage…_

_Anakin… It had felt like Anakin._

And yet all he could find here, all he could see, was evidence of a desperate fight and a boy gravely wounded by a Tusken weapon.

It didn’t make sense.

Could he even be sure of his own powers any more since the shadow of the Dark Side obscured and distorted everything? Perhaps the dark side was at work in him…

_Question yourself, you do, Obi-Wan. Listen to the Force. Do what you feel is right, you must._

He briefly smiled at the echo of memory from his own padawan days and he fleetingly wondered how his old friend and master, Yoda, was faring in his own self-imposed exile.

_Do what you feel is right…_

The Jedi knelt into the sand and ripped open the med-pack, drawing out a rehydrate pack and the anti-venom vial as footsteps ran to the door and Biggs stumbled to a stop just within the building.

“Suns….” The youth whispered in horror.

“He is alive,” Obi-Wan assured him, placing a comforting hand on Luke’s head; the youth briefly stirred and moaned at the touch. “But we must act quickly. Here, Biggs, help me…”

 

ooOOoo

The Pupil

Deeply immersed in the Force Luke moved through his practice, stepping forward and bringing his hands together as though holding the hilt of a sword. In his mind the handgrip was solid in his hands, balanced, the blade of the lightsaber extending by a metre and a half, the buzz and hum of it helping him focus on the task at hand as he progressed through his katas. His muscles flexed, and he used the pain of his healing back injury to strengthen his connection to the Dark Side. His feet scraped on the sandy floor, his choreography of steps measured and precise just as he had been taught. The swing of his arms, the flexibility of his body was…

He stopped, brought his legs together, stood at ease and dispelled the image of his illusory sword. He could feel the sweat from his exercise trickle down the small of his back, could feel the beads of fluid on his brow slide down the side of his face, could hear the harsh breathing of his lungs as he heaved in the hot Tatooine air. He opened his eyes and, keeping his back to the open door, he greeted the man who stood there, forcing out the one word his master had left him with.

“Father.”

“So,” The Dark Lord rumbled with pleasure at the greeting. “You remembered our master’s words.”

“I always remember his words,” Luke told him, turning around to face the man who had almost killed him in this room a few short weeks ago.

“He is pleased with you,” Vader told his son.

“Is he?” Luke kept his voice level, aware that once more he was unarmed and that his father carried a lightsaber on his belt. He remembered his master’s lessons on Sith: the master and the apprentice. There were always only two and any challenger to either position would be brutally dispatched. “Then where is he?”

There was amusement in the Force as Vader stepped forward and Luke took a rapid step back, watching his father, wary for any sign of an aggressive move. He knew it would come quickly, he knew that he would have to counter an attack and meet violence with violence. If he could just reach…

“I am not here to kill you, although I should chastise you for your impudence; our Master would not tolerate your tone if he were here.”

Luke knew that was true. By now he would have been a screaming heap on the floor, gasping for breath as his master’s Force lightning retreated to pale clawed fingers and Sidious’ barbed words would burn just as hotly as he verbally lashed him for his insolence, but his father was not his master…

“Then why are you here, father?” He laced the last word with venom, reminding his father that he had never come for him throughout his seventeen years and the one time that Vader had come he had almost killed his own son; but if Luke was looking for explanations and recognition then he was getting neither.

“I have something for you,” Vader moved, Luke tensed further and only then did he notice that Vader carried a simple black shoulder pack in his hand. The Dark Lord tossed it to him and whatever was inside clattered as Luke caught it. He looked to his sire for an explanation.

“You are to familiarise yourself with the contents… learn,” he was told, one gloved hand raised to point at him in emphasis. “You need to be prepared.”

“For what?”

Vader hesitated, clearly reluctant to say more. “Our master had a vision, a great event is approaching and you are at the centre of it,” Vader explained, “You will be tested by the Force.”

Luke tried to silence his surge of fear, tried to swallow as he baulked against another test; the last one had almost been the death of him. “When…?”

His father was silent, but Luke could feel the man’s hidden eyes on him, appraising him, judging him.

“That is for the Force to determine. You will know when the time comes and you will either act, or you will not.” The Dark Lord turned for door.

Luke stepped forward, the words falling from him before he could silence them. “Father… wait…” and he winced at the longing he could hear in his voice, but this man was his father…. _His father!_

The Dark Lord stopped, kept his back to his son; his master’s latest protégé and the biggest challenge to his own position since he accepted the mantle of the Sith. “Do you know who our master is?”

“Yes,” Luke told him. He had put the time he had lain recovering in the Anchorhead Medical Centre to good use. He had reflected on the fight with his father countless times in his mind, analysed his moves, looked for the faults in his performance and tried to figure out how he could have acted differently. He had been preoccupied with the brief words spoken by his master before they had abandoned him to cling to life, to fight against his injuries and the excruciating agony of the sand bat venom as it worked through his veins. For hours, for days, the feeling that he was missing something dragged on his nerves and needled at the back of his mind.

The holonet player in his hospital room was luxury that he did not have at home, but the images that colourfully played out at the end of his bed were a poor distraction and he often just stared at the flickering scenes of fictional dramas with his mind elsewhere while his aunt and uncle fussed, while Biggs’ voice droned in the back ground.

_“You should have seen them, Luke. I have no idea what she sees in him. Had her tongue half way down is his throat... I’ve never seen her loyal to anyone before. I think she’s mad…”_

Loyal…

_“… but she’s all over him like Stormtrooper armour and…”_

Stormtrooper…

_“Hey…” Biggs sat forward, waved a hand in front of Luke’s face. “Tatooine to Skywalker… Come in Skywalker!”_

_Luke blinked, forced a grin at his friend sitting by his bed. “Sorry… what did you say?”_

_“I was telling you about Fixer and Camie getting together.”_

_Luke frowned and shifted on the bed, the wound on his back catching and pulling under the bacta dressing. He winced, settled, “They’re together? Since when?”_

_Biggs laughed, “Where have you been for the last half hour? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, they went to Mos Eisley together and…”_

_“No,” Luke interrupted, something had been said that was important. “You said something else… loyal..”_

_Biggs frowned. “Wow, selective deafness,” he teased, putting his feet up on Luke’s bed and crossing his ankles. “Your aunt’s right you only hear a fraction of what you’re told!”_

_“Biggs… please… this is important I need to know!”_

_He could see the doubt, the caution, on his friend’s face. Biggs was looking at him as though he had a few hydro-screws missing; which wasn’t that unusual an occurrence. After all, he had been taught to hide himself, to be something he was not and to Biggs and everyone around him he was a simple farm-boy; he was Wormie._

_“You need to know that Camie is loyal to Fixer?” he could hear the scepticism in Biggs’ words._

Loyal…

_Luke shook his head, grinning disarmingly at his friend, playing along with the joke. Playing Biggs. “No, of course not… but you said something else, something about her being all over him?”_

_Biggs laughed, snorted. “You have a dirty mind, Luke!”_

_“What?” Luke could feel himself flush… it was anger, frustration at not getting the answers he sought, but he pretended it was embarrassment. “No! I never meant, I don’t want to know… I meant..”_

_His friend chuckled beside him, enjoying himself at Luke’s expense. “Suns, Luke, you’re too easy to rile! What I said was she was all over him like Stormtrooper armour, you know because their armour is all…”_

_Luke grinned easily, and looked down so that Biggs wouldn’t see the satisfaction on his face as understanding slid home._

Stormtroopers…

Loyal Stormtroopers…

_“I know how that works,” Luke assured him with a quiet laugh. He glanced back up at his older friend and pointed at his face. “But I’m not sure what that is growing on your upper lip”_

_Biggs pursed his lips, ran his middle finger over the growth of hair. “What? You don’t think it makes me look distinguished?”_

When he had driven through the sandstorm he had seen the Imperial Troopers and had questioned their presence, but his master’s call had been too strong, too urgent, for him to ponder their being there. He had killed one, pushed the other out of the building after grabbing his blaster and still he had been unable to grasp why they were there.

However, he had felt their loyalty to his master and there was only one man in the Galaxy to whom these soldiers would be loyal.

“He is Darth Sidious,” he announced to Vader in answer to his question, “he is the Emperor Palpatine.”

Vader turned around, “then you understand my position?”

Luke lifted his chin. “You are his apprentice, his… successor.”

“And you, boy?” The Dark Lord asked. “Where is your place?”

Luke chilled, the heat of day faded and the sweat from his exercise felt like iced water on his skin. He knew what Vader was asking, he understood the unspoken implication in the question. This wasn’t the moment that Vader had spoken about, this wasn’t the test that was to come. This was his father’s own trial; this moment, and his response, would define the relationship that was to come.

Their master was old, ancient and yet he was still the most powerful of them all. His father was formidable, but Luke could sense that behind his father’s darkness lay a man who had lost something a long time ago and that, whatever it had been, had become an obstruction that prevented him from having the strength to overthrow Palpatine. His own powers, although growing and developing over the last seven years had not yet matured into what was needed to take down Sidious, his own father had taught him that.

But, together… as father and son…

Luke closed his eyes, bowed his head, seeking his answers in the coils of the Dark Side. Then he squared his shoulders, looked up at his sire and lowered himself to one knee. “My place is here, father.”

He could feel his sire’s satisfaction slide home. He could feel the hum of pleasure in the force as Vader turned his back to him once more and took a step toward the door.

“He doesn’t know you are here, does he?” Luke challenged, his fingers tightly grasping the bag his father had thrown him, knowing that whatever it contained had not come from Sidious.

The Dark Lord hesitated, the helmet turned and tilted as though he was looking back over his shoulder at the kneeling boy. “No, my son, he does not.”

And he was gone.

It was a few moments before Luke could move, before he could summon the strength to stand, so taken aback was he by Vader’s acknowledgement.

_“… my son…”_

ooOOoo

 

To be Continued…


	10. The Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his destiny inexorably approaches Luke must be like a mirage, projecting only what people expect to see; the dutiful nephew, the simple farm boy, the attentive son and the obedient servant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply...

** Insidious **

** Part 10 **

The Teacher

The Galaxy was changing.

The patterns of the Force were ever moving, ever changing like sand caught in a desert storm; shifting this way and that as the winds howled. The Kaleidoscope of colours and flickering lights had dimmed and darkened to deep red and orange hues and the threads within the Force, the pathways, the essence of living beings, were folding in upon one another, crossing and criss-crossing each other, as destinies interlaced ever tighter. Soon, too soon, they would be gathered together in a sphere of tangled twine and placed within the hands of a child; a boy still within his teens.

Oh, he could see the boy now. Could see and feel his presence at the very centre of the Force; a beacon, a dark-light summoning, beckoning all to him. The boy was powerful, formidable. The boy was the catalyst, the spark, and it would be his actions, his decisions, that would ignite the explosion that would scatter the threads of lives and destinies to the far corners of the Force and plunge the Galaxy into…

… and it was here that he was stopped. It was here that the barriers slammed down and he could go no further, see no more of future events. It was frustrating, it was… vexing.

Since he had first stepped onto the pathway of the Sith, Sidious had been able to predict future events or manipulate them to meet his ends, his goals. It had enabled him to orchestrate a war, it had given him political power, placed him at the pinnacle of the galaxy and he had used his powers, both political and Force, to wipe out the Jedi Knights and bend the galaxy to his design, his whims.

Until the boy was born. That one, new and tiny, presence within the Force had built a wall over which Sidious had been unable to scale. The unknown future was fast approaching; it was puzzling, irritating that the power to see the future had been blocked to him, but…

…that boy was his. He had sought out that presence, he had tracked and traced the child for over a decade and had found him where the Jedi had found his father.

In the gutter on Tatooine.

Poor, disadvantaged, and with an innocence that begged corruption.

The child had grasped at his offered hand, had allowed Sidious to draw him to his feet. The boy had been an eager student, a quick study, and the Dark Side had welcomed him, had nestled warmly within him, coiled and settled within the heart of the one being whose existence mattered to an entire galaxy.

He controlled the boy and, thus, he maintained his control on the galaxy and the future of it; no matter how unseen it remained.

It was almost time, he could feel it; it was almost time to let loose the reigns and turn the boy upon the galaxy as he had with the boy’s father.

He would enjoy watching it burn.

“Excellency?”

Sidious drew in a breath, knowing that he had been silent too long and knowing that only one man felt secure and comfortable enough to question that silence. Part of it was Tarkin’s current location of millions of light years away that gave the man a false sense of safety. However, the larger part was the man’s insufferable arrogance and misguided belief that he was somehow favoured by his Emperor.

Sidious favoured no-one. He merely used and manipulated those with talents he needed.

“Yes, Tarkin,” he barked, letting his ire be seen and heard, let it be carried over the comm waves and hologram transmission circuits. “I have heard of the loss. It is most unfortunate.”

The Grand Moff didn’t even have the grace to blanch at his Emperor’s anger. “I have dispatched Lord Vader to lead the investigation into the theft, Excellency. The schematics for the Death Star will be found.”

_A flicker in the Force… something…_

Sidious mouth turned down in displeasure as he gazed upon the tiny hologram image of his Grand Moff; Tarkin treated Vader like his personal lapdog, took liberties with the Dark Lord’s duties. “Lord Vader was not stationed on the Death Star to follow your order’s Tarkin.”

Tarkin bowed in recognition and understanding. “My apologies, Sire, I did not explain well enough,” He stood straight, hands held tight behind his back. “Lord Vader volunteered.”

Of course! Vader, like Anakin Skywalker before him, was a man of action. Vader detested being in one place too long, he would have jumped at the chance to hunt those behind the audacious theft and Palpatine almost pitied the Rebels, for once Vader found them they would, before their deaths, understand what true suffering was.

_Another flash… a warning? Something to do with Vader?_

“And what of the demonstration, Tarkin?” A quick change of subject, the matter of the stolen plans no longer a concern...

_…another spike…_

…“Have you decided on a system?”

Tarkin licked his lips before speaking, a sure sign of nervousness; which was unlike him and Sidious had the impression that Tarkin was about to propose something unorthodox.

“No, Sire. I had considered the systems you suggested…. However, I feel they are too far into the Rim. I believe that for an effective demonstration, one that the population will never forget, we should have a target nearer the core. However, the senate will…”

“Leave the Senate to me,” Sidious rasped, waving him silent. “Do you have a target in mind?”

“Not as yet, Majesty,” Tarkin explained, tightly. “I had thought it should be one whose representatives opposed the Empire’s expansion, perhaps one who was critical of your executive order for species segregation on human settled worlds, or one who openly rebelled in the vote for military growth and development and…”

“You are speaking of Chandrila, Alderaan or Dac.”

“Among others, Majesty,” Tarkin conceded. “These worlds and senators have grown to feel safe in their position in the Empire and in the Senate. They believe they are untouchable, full of their own self-importance. If we eliminate them, eliminate the loudest of voices, then the choir behind will fall silent.

“The galaxy will understand that no-one is untouchable. Fear, Majesty, as you often cite, is a great motivator, but it is also an effective method of control.”

Tarkin was right, of course. A demonstration of their new weapon required it to be seen and the destruction of a backwater world that no-one had heard of would not resonate within the population. It required a public display, something that all species would never forget, something so awful, something so incalculable that it would remain forever ingrained…

No…

_…Seared… burned…._

…within the consciousness of the Galaxy. Something that would be passed down from generation to generation for centuries to come.

“You have my approval, Governor,” Palpatine conceded, his hand already reaching out to cut the transmission, “but choose wisely.”

The Emperor rose from his desk and turned to the massive window that took up the entire outer wall of his office. He stood silently gazing into the night, watching the flashes of lightning in the distance as they silhouetted the massive towers that were Imperial Centre. There was a warning in the Force, something about the Death Star plans, something about Lord Vader. The ochre in his eyes flared with his suspicions.

He turned back around, activated his comm, barked out, “Where is Lord Vader’s ship?”

“One moment, Excellency,” the nervous voice of his secretary announced, a young man newly in post after the sudden death of his predecessor.

Palpatine impatiently waited… his ire growing at each second of silence. Then…

“Sire,” the voice returned. “Lord Vader’s ship had just reached Tatooine, they are engaging in…”

Tatooine…

ooOOoo

The Jedi

The Galaxy was changing.

He could feel it, he could sense the vibrations deep within the Force no matter how dark it had become. There was something coming, an event of significance was fast approaching. He had felt it for months now, that feeling of impending destiny… that feeling that something was going to happen, something that would change everything.

Obi-Wan sighed as he poured himself a cup of water from his refrigeration unit and sat on his bed in the silence and solitude of his home.

Master Yoda had been the one with the wisdom of precognition, but he would always caution that the future was ever in motion and what was seen may not be what necessarily came to pass.

_“When seeking to change events seen within visions, cause them you may. Listen to the Force, my young padawans, and guide you it will.”_

The Jedi smiled into his cup at the fleeting memory as he took a drink, only to grimace at the taste of sand and the feeling of grit on his tongue; his vaporator badly needed a new filtering system.

He had never been gifted as Yoda had been, as Anakin had been.

He closed his eyes. Again… Anakin.

It always came back to Anakin… and his son.

He took another sip of water, his eyes on the trunk that still held Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber and he had to fight the urge to open it and withdraw the weapon once more, to turn it in his hands and suffer the pain and anguish of Mustafar all over again. He smiled, silently laughed at himself; nineteen years of exile, nineteen years of watching over young Luke had turned him into quite the masochist.

He had not spoken to young Skywalker for almost two years, since the day he had found him gravely injured within the abandoned building. Owen Lars had forbid him to see Luke and even Beru refused to speak of what had happened.

It had been Biggs Darklighter who had sought him out a few days later and filled him in on Luke’s story.

_“Idiot said he had heard something… thought it was scavengers stealing from the farm. He said he chased them before the winds really took, but lost them. ‘Said he had got lost, found the building by chance and didn’t check before he entered._

_“Tusken’s jumped him, beat him, stuck him with the gaffi stick when he tried to fight back. Then sat and watched him while waiting for the winds to die.” Darklighter shrugged, grimaced. “Luke thought they were taking bets… you know… to see what died first; the winds or him._

_“I guess he got lucky…” Biggs picked up a pebble, turned it in his palm before throwing it with some force out across the sand in front of Ob-Wan’s home._

_“Is there something wrong?” Obi-Wan queried, mildly, thinking Luke’s story sounded plausible, but also thinking that a child raised on Tatooine would not blindly go racing out into a dust storm._

_“I’m leaving for the Academy,” the boy had said with some concern in his voice, “who’s gonna watch out for Luke now?”_

Obi-Wan had watched from a far. He still visited the farm, he still caught glimpses of the boy with his guardians. He had watched as Luke helped maintain the property. He had watched as Luke snuck out to meet his friends. He had watched as Luke argued with his uncle and when his aunt placated him. He could feel the boy’s anger, his frustrations, but nothing that he would not otherwise feel in the Force from any teenager who had been reprimanded by an adult; a flare, a hot simmer, that died away with his aunt’s wisdom.

Luke’s life was like that of any Tatooine youths; toil and sand with the sporadic dangerous excitement of skyhopper racing.

That the Dark Side still circled Luke like a flight of carrion birds was undeniable; but the youth himself seemed oblivious. All seemed as it should be… and yet that made Obi-Wan all the more uncomfortable; had his long exile affected his own Force abilities?

With a grunt…

_… Force, he was getting old…_

…Obi-Wan stood and, carrying his glass, he crossed to the open doorway of his home and gazed out across the darkening sandscape. Behind him the suns were setting, the shade of the mountain ranges engulfing his home and casting ever longer and darker shadows across the sands, the peaks of the rocks cast like deformed talons reaching out in the direction of the Lars farmstead.

He frowned, the hair on the back of his neck prickling in the cooling air as the Force whispered its warning.

Something was coming.

ooOOoo

The Father

Always Tatooine.

He still dreamed of this place.

He dreamed of his mother. He dreamed of her weeping. He dreamed of her death. He dreamed of the plot of sand where her dry bones now lay.

He dreamed of hot suns and dust. He dreamed of hard labour, of grazed hands and blistered fingers. He dreamed of thirst and hunger. He dreamed of a rod across his back.

He dreamed of his son. He dreamed of flying through gullies in a beat up skyhopper. He dreamed of sitting with his back against a pourstone dome as night descended and shadows reached across the sands. He dreamed of blond hair, blues eyes and a ready smile. He dreamed of an innocence that was lost. He dreamed of darkness hidden within the brightest of lights.

Vader stood on the Bridge of the Star Destroyer gazing out at the sphere that was Tatooine. Tan sand and russet hues reflected the light of the twin suns under which he had grown; under which his child now lived and toiled and waited.

How apt it was that Leia Organa had fled to this world.

Even without opening himself fully to the Force he could feel his son’s presence… and Kenobi’s. Is that why the Princess had raced here after intercepting the Death Star plans? Was she searching for the Jedi? Did she hope to persuade the old man out of his exile to join the Alliance’s fight against the Empire?

He snorted behind his mask; Kenobi was nothing now.

He pushed back his hatred, dampened the sudden rush of anger at the mere thought of the Jedi. Kenobi had not even recognised the darkness growing under his watch. Like the Jedi of the Republic he had not seen, or recognised, what was happening right before his eyes. The Dark Side hid everything. His master had been right; let Kenobi live in ignorance and let him die with the knowledge that he had failed once more.

Vader smiled behind his mask, old scars catching and pulling at his lips.

“My Lord!”

Vader could feel the man’s nervousness as he approached him, “What is it, Captain?”

“We have a communication from Imperial Centre, the Emperor wishes to speak with you.” The man was by his side now, a tick at his left eye betraying his nervousness at having Vader on his bridge.

He was on a ship orbiting Tatooine… of course Palpatine wanted to speak with him. “Open a channel in my quarters, ensure full encryption.”

“Yes, My Lord!”

Vader turned away from the planet, away from the man, preparing himself for his conversation with Palpatine. “Once I am done, set a course to rendezvous with the Death Star. Inform the Grand Moff that I am bringing him a guest.”

The Captain nodded sharply as Vader flowed past. “It shall be done, my Lord!”

ooOOoo

The Pupil

Luke lay on his bed with his hands behind his head gazing up at the ceiling replaying the conversation he’d had with Biggs only a few short hours ago. It had been a surprise to find him here, but interesting all the same; Biggs was joining the Rebellion. Biggs was planning to jump ship, turn his back on the Empire and join the Rebel Alliance.

_“The Rebellion is spreading, Luke, and I want to be on the side I believe in.”_

If only Biggs knew to whom he spoke, he wouldn’t have been so forth coming with information.

Now Biggs was gone again, had left Tatooine for an unknown fate and was unlikely to return… and he was still stuck here.

Stuck on this miserable planet as the Galaxy swayed on the edge of….

…something. Something was happening, something was changing. He could feel it in the Force, he could feel the vibrations within his power, could feel the patterns of the Force weaving together, interlacing around him. He could hear the whispers within that teased him with an untold destiny.

How much longer was he to be left behind and ignored, how much longer was he to watch from afar before he could take up his rightful place with his master and his father?

He blew out a breath. Annoyed by his thoughts, annoyed at himself for brooding like an immature teenager and not the Sith he should be.

The ships he had seen, the battle he had seen, the fight that the others at Tosche Station had mocked and dismissed… that was Biggs’ Rebellion, that was his father’s ship. He knew it. He had felt his father’s presence. Had felt Darth Vader’s coldness bludgeon through the Force, could still feel it at the edge of the Force now… but still his father was leaving him here.

Agitated, on edge, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor, putting his head in his hands.

How much longer was he to pretend to be something he was not?

He was ready.

He was ready now!

He had maintained his training. He had practiced his katas until his legs were weak and his hand’s blistered. He had immersed himself into the Dark Side, allowed his hate and anger to drive his exercises, while still shielding himself from the Jedi who insisted on hovering around him. He had honed his skills behind the controls of the skyhopper. He had lived the life of a farm boy desperate to leave this barren rock and applied for the Imperial Academy, and had then pretended to capitulate to his Uncle and withdrew the application before his master or father found out.

He had spent hours reading all of the information on the datapads that his father had given him, had committed names and backgrounds and profiles to memory, had secreted away the small holoprojector that had been hidden in an interior pocket of the bag his father had tossed to him almost two years ago at their last meeting.

_After his father had left and, ignoring the dried blood… his blood… that still marked the floor, Luke sat down, upturning the bag, emptying out several datapads into the sand. He frowned at them, lifted them one by one and turned them over in his hands._

_What the hell?_

_When he had heard the clatter inside the bag as he caught it, he’d hoped for a lightsaber, or even parts of one, but... datapads? Licking his lips, he lifted the nearest device. Wiping sand from the screen, Luke ran his thumb across it bringing up a list of the datapad’s preloaded information._

Imperial Military:

Command Structure

Navy

Army

Air Divisions

Intelligence

Military Law…

_Yawn…_

_Luke switched it off, picked up another and flickered through it, another frown creasing his brow. It was a list of names._

_Wiluff Tarkin_

_Cassio Tagge_

_Conan Motti…_

_…. And something called The Death Star Project._

_Luke swiped a finger across Wilhuff Tarkin and was met with a profile picture of a thin faced human man. He skimmed the information below the picture… a biography of…_

_Something whistled and vibrated within the bag. He searched through it again, found an interior pocket and withdrew a circular holoreceiver. He grinned… latest model, too!_

_He took a breath, activated it, eyes widening as a pre-recorded message began to play._

_“My son,” the image of his father intoned, and Luke couldn’t help but grin at the acknowledgement, an echo of the one that his father had uttered a few short minutes ago before he had left._

“My Son!”

_“It is vital that the information I have given you is never found. Not by your guardians, not by Kenobi, and not by our master. You should familiarise yourself with the intelligence, for one day it may save your life… or end it._

_Know your enemies, Luke. Study them. Take Particular note of Wiluff Tarkin. He is no Sith, but he eyes the throne and could be a threat to us…”_

_Luke lifted the datapad and gazed at the thin faced man._

_“…The Force is shifting, changing, an event awaits us all and you are at the centre of it, of that Palpatine is certain. You must be prepared to act, to do what is necessary to strengthen your connection to the Dark Side… only then will you be strong enough to defeat Palpatine and take your place at my side…”_

_The hologram winked out and no matter how many times he tried to replay it, to retrieve it, he failed._

“…take your place at my side.”

_Somehow… somehow his father had known what his choice would be._

_Feeling elated, feeling accepted, he pushed the device into his pocket and looked down at the datapads. He couldn’t leave them here, his master may return at any time and if they were hidden here, Sidious may sense something amiss were he to return. Gathering them up he returned them to the bag and, following his father’s footsteps out of the building, he tossed the bag into the back of his landspeeder._

_He stood for a moment looking out over the flats, watching the heat haze shimmer on the horizon, seeing the mirror image of the sky, the mirage, that many a thirsty traveller would mistake for water._

_The teenager grimaced as realisation struck; this was a dangerous game he had begun to play. He was to be the faithful nephew, the simple farm boy, the attentive son and the obedient servant. He needed to reflect what those around him excepted him to be, he had to be the mirage._

_His life depended upon it._

Luke rose, paced his room, nervously glancing at the alcove hewed into the rock of his bedroom wall that served as his closet. He had deepened the space, created a false floor under which he had hidden all the information his father had given him. He knew he should have destroyed it. He should have just read each device and then crushed it, discarded it, but something had stilled his hand. He knew the risks he had taken bringing them into his home, but Beru and Owen Lars rarely ventured into his room now that he was grown and they and the holoreceiver were all he had of his father.

“Luke!”

He winced at his uncle’s shout.

“Luke!”

“I’m coming!” he yelled back, allowing his frustrations to colour his tones; he was after all a teenager.

He jogged down the steps from his room, sauntered across the atrium toward his uncle who was waiting for him near the stairs to the farmstead entrance. He glanced up at the rumble from above, the familiar sound one of roughly worn engines and loose caterpillar treads.

“Come on,” his uncle ordered, ignoring the sour look on his nephew’s face, “you can help me look at the junk they’re offering, see if they have any droids.”

ooOOoo

To be concluded...

 


End file.
